


Stiles Stilinski and the Lupine Amulet

by tresa_cho



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, BAMF Allison, BAMF Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fox Stiles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia is Perfect, M/M, Multi, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 66,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresa_cho/pseuds/tresa_cho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A howl shredded the eerie calm around them and Stiles jerked. He whirled in place, trying to keep his hands on Scott’s wound while looking for the werewolf. When the creature didn’t reappear, Stiles forced his heart back into his chest. And then he saw a figure crest the ravine.</p><p>It wasn’t the werewolf. It was a wolf wolf. Legit, the largest, hugest wolf Stiles had ever seen in his life. Stiles dug his fingers into Scott’s skin as the wolf slipped down the ravine towards them. The bat was next to the fire, well out of reach, and Stiles didn’t have anything to defend himself with. Maybe if he held his breath and didn’t move, it wouldn’t see him-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bite

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start, be warned that this fic will deal with Kate Argent and her canonical use of presumably underage Derek to gain access to and destroy the Hale family. The theme will be present through the story, and I will attach all applicable warnings to the notes at the start of each chapter it is mentioned.
> 
> There will also be 15 year old Stiles kissing a 19 year old Derek, again with warnings in the front notes of the relevant chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic. I adore comments and concrit, if you have them. Thanks for stopping by!

“They’re gonna kick you off the team.”

“No they’re not.”

“You’re practicing with the enemy, dude. They will so kick you off.” Stiles dropped his pack on the grass and tipped his face towards the sun. “You’re just lucky that you’re the best damn Seeker the house has right now. Lack of self-preservation skills while on a broom, not a good combo but apparently winning stats for a Seeker.”

“Shut up. Don’t be jealous. That’s not cool, man.” Scott finished strapping Quidditch pads on his arms. He looked around the open field, and grinned, wide, and easy. “You’re Keeper.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I always get in the way of everything,” Stiles said. “Natural progression from falling down stairs and cock blocking Jackson. Ready?”

“Go for it.”

Stiles unzipped his pack and the Snitch from the last game zoomed out. He yelped, startled, and fell back on his ass. They had lined a practice ring in the grass to keep the Snitch contained while Scott dove for it. Stiles was preparing for his favourite part of training, Bludgeoning Scott, when Scott whined. Stiles looked up and saw Scott standing at the edge of their barrier, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“Scott. What did you do?” Stiles frowned.

“I tripped and messed up the line.” Scott stared at the ground, then cast his eyes towards the tree line that bordered the field. “It went into the Preserve.”

“The Preserve that we’re not allowed in? The one that is haunted and has unicorns and giants and who else knows what ready to eat young, nubile school children like ourselves? That Preserve?” Stiles asked.

“There’s only one Preserve, Stiles.” Scott sighed in exasperation. “I have to get it back, Ms Hale only lent it to me for today.”

“Ms Hale is out sick today, she won’t know,” Stiles said. stupidly.

“She’ll know if I never return it.” Scott stepped out of their circle. “I’ll be right back.”

“Whoa, whoa. You’re not going in there alone, dude.” Stiles snatched his Beater’s bat from the bag and tripped after Scott.

“You’re ridiculous. It’ll take five seconds,” Scott said. “The Snitch only responds to me anyway. What are you going to do?”

“Fight off the unicorns, duh,” Stiles said. He hoisted the bat onto his shoulder. “Also, you are never allowed near my barriers ever again.”

“It was an accident, dude! I’m sorry.” Scott grimaced.

“You are seriously the worst at physical magic. How have you managed this far? Oh right. Your best friend forever. Otherwise you’d be failing out of school.”

They stepped into the shade of the trees, and the air changed around them. Stiles gulped, a shiver rolling down his spine. He tapped the bat nervously and stumbled along beside Scott as they pressed deeper into the forest. “You know there’s a reason students aren’t allowed in here, right?”

“Certain death. They mention it at the beginning of every year,” Scott said. He held a branch back for Stiles to step under.

“Which death is it this year, I forget.” Stiles flexed his grip on the bat. Sunlight filtered through the treetops, but it was chilly in the shade. He wished he were wearing a thicker hoodie.

“Mauling? I forget. You seem really hung up on the unicorn thing, though,” Scott said. “Virgin sacrifices?”

“Virgin sacrifices are a myth carried over from when European wizards first witnessed herbal magic,” Stiles said. “They didn’t actually happen. It just meant blood that hadn’t been touched by magic before.”

A stick snapped in the distance. Scott and Stiles froze. Stiles' breathing quickened, and he gripped the bat with both hands, now. “Did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that.” Scott looked around. He narrowed his eyes and suddenly ran forward.

“Wait! Scott!”

“I saw it. I’m going to grab it!” Scott took off, much faster than was probably safe given the sheer amount of ground cover and broken tree branches and rabbit holes and- shit.

“Scott!” Stiles stepped forward. He lost sight of Scott. The woods around him grew eerily quiet, and the hair at the back of his neck stood up. Yelling was probably not a good idea right now.

Forcing his breathing to even, he crouched and picked up a stick that Scott had stepped on. He held it in the palm of his hand and concentrated. “ _Point me_.”

The stick spun above his palm like the needle on a compass, and jerked to a halt, pointing in the direction Scott had run off. Stiles stood and trotted after his stupid friend, at a considerably slower pace because he definitely didn’t want a twisted ankle. It’s not like he actually got to play in the Quidditch matches, but better not to risk it.

A strangled scream pierced the air, and Stiles dropped the stick. He bolted, skidding around a massive tree trunk towards the sound. When he stepped down, the ground disappeared and he dropped into a ravine. Tucking his arms and legs, he managed to avoid impaling himself.

He slammed to a halt at the bottom, and found himself face to face with the most gruesome, fuzzy-fleshy creature he had ever seen. Before he could draw breath to scream, the creature’s jaw opened and revealed a mouth full of razor sharp teeth that were definitely going to tear him to bits.

Stiles didn’t think. He used what little leverage he had and swung the bat.

It smashed into the creature’s face and drove it back. Stiles scrambled to his feet, just as the creature recovered. Stiles swung the bat with both hands and almost snapped the creature’s head back with the force of the blow. It went down and clawed at the forest floor before scrambling to its feet and high-tailing (it had a tail. It had a tail) it out of the ravine.

Stiles didn’t have the luxury of panicking. He caught sight of Scott, lying halfway in the small stream that ran through the ravine. Stiles ran to his side and splashed to his knees. “Scott! Oh shit. Scott, man, talk to me, buddy.”

The claw marks across Scott’s body confirmed what the creature had been. A huge, gaping chunk of Scott’s side was missing, oozing sluggishly into the stream.

Werewolf.

Shaking, Stiles scrambled out of the stream. He grabbed two rocks and scraped them together. When a spark flew, he laughed in hysterical relief. A dry, dead leaf provided tinder, and he struck the two rocks until a spark landed and started to smoulder. Within minutes, he had a small tuft of flame.

He carefully picked the crackling leaf up by the stem, and said, “Please. There’s been an attack in the Preserve. I need help. My friend’s dying. Go.”

A piece of the flame licked into the air, straight up and then flew in the direction of Beacon, their boarding school. As long as he kept his end of the fire going, they’d find him in no time.

Stiles wasted precious time settling the leaf in a rocky, non-flammable nest. He hated the Preserve, but he didn’t really want to burn it to the ground. When the fire was safe, he crawled back over to Scott.

Stiles grimaced and pressed his hands to the worst of the wounds- the bite- and bore down. Scott’s blood squeezed out between his fingers and Stiles fought the urge to gag. He fought back frightened tears. “This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. God damn it, Scott.”

A howl shredded the eerie calm around them and Stiles jerked. He whirled in place, trying to keep his hands on Scott’s wound while looking for the werewolf. When the creature didn’t reappear, Stiles forced his heart back into his chest. And then he saw a figure crest the ravine.

It wasn’t the werewolf. It was a wolf wolf. Legit, the largest, hugest wolf Stiles had ever seen in his life. Stiles dug his fingers into Scott’s flesh as the wolf slipped down the ravine towards them. The bat was next to the fire, well out of reach, and Stiles didn’t have anything to defend himself with. Maybe if he held his breath and didn’t move, it wouldn’t see him-

Scott whined, a soft, broken thing, and shattered the awful silence. Stiles gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, and the wolf stopped in front of him. They were the same height, with Stiles crouched in the shallows of the stream.

And then a shadow moved behind the gigantic wolf. Another wolf stepped out of the trees. Slightly smaller, but not by much. They were still the size of small horses, and Stiles really wanted to be anywhere other than this stupid forest.

Before the second wolf could come any closer, though, both their heads snapped up, ears pricking towards the edge of the ravine. And then they were gone, before Stiles could exhale, and seconds after they disappeared, Mr Deaton slid over the edge of the ravine, followed closely by Nurse McCall.

“N-No-” Stiles gasped. Scott’s mom shouldn’t see him like this-

“Stiles, let go. It’s okay. It’ll be okay, let go, honey.”

Ms McCall gently pried his fingers away from the wounds. Her wand skimmed down Scott’s body, closing the worst of the wounds and stopping a good deal of the blood loss. Stiles sat back, shaking. Deaton stood behind him, a solid, quiet presence, watching for any other magical creatures. He clasped his hands behind his back, his wand loose and ready.

“Alan, can you help me? I have to get him to the hospital.” Ms McCall stood and brushed leaves and dirt from her knees.

Deaton and Ms McCall trained their wands at Scott’s body and lifted him from the ground. Ms McCall extended her free hand to Stiles. “Come on, Stiles. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

A few more teachers were waiting for them when they stepped out of the tree line. Mr Argent, Ms Argent, and Mr Harris stood, wands out, and only relaxed when they saw Ms McCall wave at them. Mr Argent sent the other two back into the education building, and strode to meet them.

“Did you see what did it?”

“Stiles will tell us exactly what happened in time,” Deaton said. “Right now we need to get both these boys to the medical wing. They’ve had a very disturbing experience. If you please.”

Stiles choked out a relieved breath. He couldn’t think about anything at the moment, and Mr Argent looked fit to destroy something. They were let into the hospital building through the teacher’s entrance, and Stiles didn’t have to face any of his classmates for which he was immensely grateful. Deaton tugged his hand out of Ms McCall’s once they were inside, and sat him down in one of the chairs in an empty office.

“Stiles, I need you to be very clear to me about what happened to you and Mr McCall.” Deaton leveled his eyes at Stiles, and his level of calm helped clear Stiles’ mind.

“We were practicing Quidditch,” Stiles started. “And the Snitch got out of our barrier. We went after it, and Scott- He fell down the ravine.”

Stiles’ heart thundered in his chest. There was no way he could tell anyone that Scott had been bitten by a werewolf. Nobody could know. Nobody but him.

“Those wounds didn’t look like they were made by falling, Stiles,” Deaton pressed. “I need you to be honest with me. You aren’t in trouble. We just need to know how to treat Scott. You can help us, Stiles. Do you see that bauble on the shelf?”

Stiles followed his nod and saw a softly glowing green orb perched on a shelf beside some medical texts. Stiles nodded.

“That tells me when someone is being less than truthful. Scott is going to get the best help he can, but I need to know what happened. What attacked him.”

Stiles inhaled. He exhaled. Inhaled again, still couldn’t stop his shaking, and stared helplessly at Deaton.

Deaton nodded, pursing his lips. He stood, went to the door and soundproofed it. He checked the seams of the room and the air vent, and then returned to his previous position in front of Stiles. “What you say will stay in this room, except what I can use to help Scott recover. Is that acceptable?”

“I-I think it was a werewolf.” Stiles choked on the words, his fists clenched tight against his thighs. “It was… It looked like a humanoid wolf. Long limbs, spindly. Claws. I think I smashed its face in with a bat. That’s why it didn’t attack me too. Well, it tried, but I surprised it.”

“Okay. Okay, Stiles. I need you to wait here while I give Ms McCall the information she needs to help heal Scott. I’ll be right back.” Deaton stood, released the soundproofing on the room, and exited.

Stiles fidgeted, because that was what he was good at. He kicked at the legs of the chair, trying not to think about how he had just signed his best friend’s death warrant. The room grew tighter the longer he waited, and he had to stand to force it back. He made his way to the shelf and plucked the truther-thing from its resting place. He twiddled it in both hands, watching it shift colour as it moved.

“Stiles?”

Stiles startled, and the truth-thing slipped between his fingers. It clacked to the floor, and he scrambled after it. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s fine-”

Deaton’s hand closed over his, and gently freed the bauble from his grip. Deaton returned the thing to the shelf, and patted Stiles’ shoulder. “Scott’s going to be fine. Ms McCall was able to get the bleeding under control, thanks to you. You saved his life, Stiles. Would you like to see him?”


	2. The Poisoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh goodie,” Stiles said. “I always wanted to get my ass handed to me by a smoking hot Dark Arts teacher after rescuing someone from drowning in his own vomit. Best day ever.”
> 
> “Dude, what?” Scott blinked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to set up a weekly schedule for posting on Sundays, EST, but realised I was going to be away. So have a chapter early! (This means a longer wait for the next one but... Sunday is going to be the ideal uploading time for this fic)

Stiles nodded so hard it felt like his brain shook loose. Deaton smiled, warm and comforting, and led him to the private room where Scott lay. Deaton opened the door and let Stiles in, shutting it without entering.

Ms McCall sat beside the bed, a thin smile on her lips. “Hey, Stiles. Thank you, for telling Deaton.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. He approached the foot of the bed and clung to it. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Stiles,” Ms McCall said. But Stiles knew that look. The look of someone’s world changing before their eyes, without their permission. “It’ll be all right.”

She stood and stretched. Her trousers were still covered in Scott’s blood. She patted Stiles’ shoulder. “Will you sit with him while I go back to work? The Sierras had practice today, and you know how well that always goes down.”

“It’s not their fault they suck,” Stiles said. He gripped the footboard of the bed tightly. “Their captain is MIA.”

Ms McCall smiled. “Don’t stay here all night. You need to go back to your dormitory and sleep at some point. You do have class tomorrow.”

“Promise,” Stiles said. Ms McCall left, closing the door quietly behind her. Stiles moved to her seat, still warm, and leaned back in it. He memorised the new marks on Scott’s face, the thin scars now etched into his skin. Bandages wrapped his chest, and gauze was taped to his arms. He looked awful. And it would just keep getting worse.

Stiles didn’t mean to fall asleep, but sheer, mind-numbing terror really took a toll on one’s body, and he passed out in the chair beside Scott’s bed. He woke to the sound of someone being dragged down the hall outside the door.

He got to his feet and crept to the door. Night had fallen, and Stiles had no idea what time it was, but it wasn’t a reasonable hour for normal people. He pressed his ear to the door.

“There was a boy-” A rough, dry voice spoke. Punctuated by short gasps. “There was someone-”

“It’s all right. We found him. He’s alive.” That was Deaton.

Stiles pressed closer to the door, straining to hear.

“Is he-?”

“Yes, he was bitten.”

The slow shuffle of feet stopped, and something thumped against the wall. The owner of the unknown voice groaned, almost right in Stiles’ ear. Stiles jumped back from the door, biting down hard on a yelp of surprise.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Deaton’s voice didn’t change cadence. No matter who he was dealing with. It would have been admirable if Stiles hadn’t been freaking out. “Let’s get you to bed. There’s no use worrying about it right now.”

The dragging footsteps picked up, moving down the hall. Stiles closed his eyes and held his breath. He turned the door handle slowly, carefully, and opened the door a crack. He was just in time to see Deaton half-carrying, half-dragging another student around the corner towards another recovery room. The kid was a solid stock of muscle with a shock of unruly black hair to top off. Stiles didn’t recognise him.

Stiles clicked the door shut and padded back to the chair by Scott’s bed. He lost more time in that chair, and the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by none other than Allison Argent.

“Stiles!”

Stiles jerked, and flailed hard enough that he fell out of the chair. Allison leaned over him, concerned, and from the doorway, Stiles saw Lydia Martin laughing at him. He squeaked, and scrambled to his feet. He straightened his sweatshirt, still gross and dirt-covered from the day before.

“Stiles, you’re missing class,” Allison said. She clutched a few books tight to her chest. “I can stay with him.”

“I wasn’t-” Stiles fumbled around the words. Lydia Martin stood in the door, staring at him. “H-Hey Lydia.”

“Stiles.” She lifted her chin and entered the room. She positioned herself beside Allison.

“So, I should get to class… then…” Stiles said. He turned towards the door and hesitated, before spinning on the girls. “Do you know who’s in the room down the hall?”

“What? No. Is it one of your friends?” Allison asked, all sympathy and concern. Stiles shook his head.

“He came in… last night, I think. I didn’t see who he was. It was weird. To be coming in that late on a school night-” Stiles cut himself off. The girls were staring at him. “Class. I should- Class.”

“Probably shower first,” Lydia suggested. She wrinkled her nose. “And change.”

“That is a great, great plan.” Stiles gave her a thumbs up as he backed out of the room. “Ace. Really. No wonder you’re in Martin Hall. I never would have come up with that.”

“Stiles, I own Martin Hall,” Lydia reminded him unkindly.

Stiles was already halfway down the hall. He skidded to a halt in front of the only other closed door in the wing, and reached for the handle. The door opened before he could touch it, and he jumped back.

“Stiles! What are you doing?” Ms McCall slipped from the room and closed the door firmly behind her. “I know you weren’t trying to sneak into a private ward and harass one of my patients.”

“Er, no,” Stiles said. “I was going to class. Right now.”

“Right now,” Ms McCall confirmed.

“Right now!” Stiles backed away from her and stumbled out of the medical wing. He ran across the quad towards his dormitory.

Beacon rose around him as he dodged slower students and studying groups. It was natural he attend the premiere school for magic on the West Coast. No one had been more surprised than he to receive an owl on his doorstep on his eleventh birthday. His father had come in a close second, but his mother smiled like she knew the whole time that he was gifted. That he could be more than that hyperactive, flailing mess of a kid he was. Since that momentous day, Stiles' life had been a whirlwind of magic, theory, and improbable happenstances.

He pounded up the front stairs to his dormitory, and almost slammed into another student.

“Whoa! Hey. Isaac. Almost ran you over, dude.” Stiles panted from his run, and bent over his knees.

Isaac stared at him, his stupidly perfect hair curling just right, even after Stiles’ jostle. He tipped his head towards the door and said, “ _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_.”

The lock clicked open, and Isaac pushed the door back. He waited, staring at Stiles. Stiles stared back. “Oh! You want me to- Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, you look like you had a rough night,” Isaac said. “Is Scott okay?”

Ice slid down Stiles’ spine. “Yeah, Scott’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s perfectly okay, playing hooky like he tends to do because he doesn’t take school seriously. He’s definitely- not- unconscious. Well, he might be unconscious sleeping but not like-”

“Stiles.” Isaac cut him off. Stiles snapped his mouth closed. “I don’t care. Not that much, anyway. Go shower. Jesus.”

“Whatever, Isaac. Go wash your scarves.” It wasn’t Stiles’ best comeback, but he was running on fumes, here. He separated from Isaac in the stairwell, Isaac going to the third floor, and Stiles climbing to the fifth. Isaac was first string on the Quidditch team, a smiling, poised Chaser.

Stiles ignored his other hallmates and beelined for the showers. He stood under the hot spray and tried to force himself to relax. He took deep, steadying breaths that shuddered out of him, but his chest wasn’t tightening. The steam from the hot water helped.

When he finally felt steady enough to leave the shower, he grabbed a fluffy towel from a bin near the door, and wrapped it around himself. He managed to duck into his room without anyone seeing him, and he locked the door behind him. He sat down on his bed to dress, and managed to get one leg into his trousers before passing out sideways on his pillow.

A soft knock at his door pulled him from sleep sometime after sunset and Stiles groaned. He probably missed dinner. So hungry…

The knocking persisted, and Stiles stood. He got tangled in his pants and face-planted the floor. Grunting, he yanked his pants on and pulled himself to his feet with his bed’s help. He opened the door. “Mr Yukimura!”

“You weren’t in class today, Stiles, and I heard from my colleagues that you had a bit of an experience in the Preserve. I brought the notes from today.” Mr Yukimura taught History of Magic and Muggle Studies, and was the head of Rickonson Hall, which was where Stiles had been Sorted. “Are you all right, Stiles?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles said. Everyone kept asking him that. He wasn’t the one in a hospital bed. He had walked away from that.

“If you need someone to talk to, you know where my office is,” Mr Yukimura said. He nodded at the papers in Stiles’ hand. “I’ll go over those with you, if you want. It’s just a continuation of what we discussed yesterday.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know,” Stiles said. He swallowed. “D’you think I could call my dad?”

“Absolutely. Come with me. Telephone or Floo?” Mr Yukimura stepped back to let Stiles into the hall, and Stiles shut his door behind him.

“Floo,” Stiles said. He followed Mr Yukimura to the first floor of the building, where the lounge, and other offices were.

Mr Yukimura closed his office door behind them and tugged out a desk drawer. He rummaged around in it briefly before freeing a small leather bag of powder. He handed it to Stiles and crouched in front of the contained fire grate beside his desk. He tugged a small strip of paper from his pocket and scripted a few Chinese symbols on it. He placed the paper in the logs and it sparked, catching fire.

Within moments, a warm fire crackled happily in the grate. “All yours. I’ll be in the lounge. I promised Edward that I would help him with his Charms.”

“Thanks.” Stiles waited until Mr Yukimura left, and took a pinch of Floo powder in hand. He tossed it in the fire and clearly announced his father’s work address. He took a breath and stuck his head in the fire.

The living room was dark aside from the glow of the fire. “Dad?”

Something clattered in another room, and then his father was crouched in front of the grate, the fire highlighting every line in his face. “Stiles! What is it? What happened?”

“We were in the Preserve, me and Scott, and he was attacked,” Stiles said. He lowered his voice. “Dad, I think it was a werewolf.”

“Do you want me to come get you?” Dad asked. “Son, if there’s a werewolf running around on school property-”

“No, it wasn’t- We were being stupid. The school’s safe, Dad,” Stiles said. He scrubbed a hand over his hair.

“Yeah, that’s what they kept saying about that school in England. What was it called? Hogmumps?”

“Hogwarts, Dad, and their circumstances were a little different. Messiah of the Wizarding world, that whole thing. There’s no Dark Lord here. It’s just a forest of creepy things. And it was Scotland, Dad.” Stiles laughed.

“Whatever. Look, I can come get you until they clear the woods out there. I want you safe,” his father said.

“I’m fine. Really. I’m just worried about Scott,” Stiles said. His shoulders slumped.

“It’s not the death sentence it was years ago, Stiles,” Dad said softly. “There are ways to manage it now. No cure, but it can be managed. You know that.”

Something clicked in Stiles’ head, the gears turning and shifting. It could be managed. The potion was invented in the 70s, but it was there. Wolfsbane. “Dad, I gotta go.”

“What? You Flooed me! Sit here and talk with your old man some,” Dad protested.

“I can’t. I- Dinner! I’ll miss dinner!” Stiles waved at his father. “Love you.”

“Love you too, son. Stay safe. Stay out of the Preserve, you hear me?”

“Right, right.” Stiles drew his head and shoulders out of the fire and set the bag of powder on Mr Yukimura’s desk. He ran out the door, past the lounge, where he paused and stuck his head in the room. “Thanks Mr Yukimura!”

“No problem,” was the response, and Stiles was gone.

 

 

 

He ran out of the dormitory, throwing the front door open to a few startled seventh graders. He tossed an apology over his shoulder as he bolted across the quad towards the library. Lamposts lit the pathways between the buildings, and he darted inside the library, only slowing when he felt Finstock’s beady eyes pin the point between his shoulders.

Stiles quickly moved through the shelves until he reached the potions section. He already knew where the more advanced texts were. Once, in seventh grade, the teacher had assigned an essay on magical properties of mistletoe, and Stiles had pulled every single book in the library on the plant. That had included an ancient text dating back to the founding of Rome with the most complex potions Stiles had ever seen in his tiny little life.

He had only been in the library for an hour when someone cleared their throat from the edge of the shelves. Stiles glanced up from the book he held and saw Kira Yukimura, swordsgal extraordinaire and incredible wielder of the kitsune charm. She smiled.

“What are you doing?” she asked. She held a few thick tomes close to her chest.

“Researching,” Stiles said.

She glanced down the hall, both directions, before stepping between the shelves. “The library’s closing soon. Do you need help? Why are you in the advanced potions section?”

“Uh.” Stiles thought quickly. “I wanted to boost my grade in Harris’ class, so he told me that if I wrote a paper on why wolfsbane potion works he’d give me extra credit.”

“But Stiles, you have an A in Potions.” Kira’s nose crinkled adorably. “Lydia won’t shut up about it.”

“Lydia talks about me?” Stiles’ heart soared before he shook himself with reality. Focus. “I will fight for that plus sign, even if it means a few all nighters.”

“That’s a graduate level potion,” Kira pointed out.

“Yeah, I know. Harris is a jerk. But I want the credit. Teachers are required to give assignments if the students ask for them. Or something. I don’t know. But I need to find out how to make it.” Stiles tugged another book off the shelf and sat down on the floor with it. He spread it across his knees and flipped to the index.

Kira stepped beside him and placed her books carefully on the floor in a pile. She reached for the book neighbouring Stiles’, and plopped to the ground next to him. She propped the book open in her lap and pulled out a pen and notebook. Stiles stared at her.

“You- Don’t have to- What are you doing?” Siles asked.

“I’m helping you,” Kira said. “I want to. And I want to learn the properties of wolfsbane potion.”

“Um, thanks,” Stiles said. He cast a few more wary glances at her before deciding that she did, indeed, want to help him, and returned to the task at hand.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of ingredients, moon phases, and time-sensitive stirring, to the point that Stiles almost feared he wouldn’t be able to make it without horribly poisoning his best friend. Kira passed out on his shoulder, and he followed shortly after, resting his eyes for just a second-

And woke when they both toppled over and knocked over a stack of books.

“Stilinski!”

Stiles jerked, staggering to his feet and came face to face with Finstock. “Coach!”

The librarian absolutely insisted they call him Coach, for some unknown, unfathomable reason. None of the students had the guts to call him anything else.

“Were you here all night?” Finstock asked. “You are aware the library closes, so that students can sleep, right?”

“Yes sir. Um, sir.” Stiles stammered. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Get out of here. Clean up your mess first. Then get out of here. Class starts in an hour.” Finstock stormed away.

The commotion had woken Kira, who blinked fuzzily as he started gathering up the tipped books. “I don’t understand how a man that loud became librarian,” she said.

She rolled onto her knees and helped Stiles organise the books. He was going to have to take a few with him. He only had a month to perfect the brewing process. A month was more than enough time.

“I’m partial to the theory that nobody knew what to do with him, and had to stick him somewhere so that he couldn’t get into trouble,” Stiles said. He stood, books in his arms. Kira stood beside him.

She chewed her lower lip. “Do you want to go to breakfast? Or- I guess you need to shower…”

“Breakfast, actually, would be amazing. I slept through dinner last night, too,” Stiles said. His stomach clenched, demanding food.

“Are you sick?” Kira asked as they started walking.

“What? No, no. My sleep schedule is all thrown off. I’ll adjust it this weekend. It’s just been a rough few days.” Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Stuff’s happened.”

Kira hummed as they stepped into the bright sunlight of the quad. Students moved between buildings, getting ready for the start of class. The campus was alive in daylight, thriving and constantly shifting. The sheer magnitude of movement settled Stiles.

Kira and Stiles grabbed a table near the edge of the dining hall in the main building. Each Hall had their own small eating section, but a majority of the school ate and gathered in the common dining hall. The food was just plain better.

Stiles dug into his breakfast. Kira couldn’t take her eyes off one of the books she had checked out, and kept forgetting to continue eating.

“Stiles, why did you pick Rickonson?” she asked, out of nowhere.

Stiles paused, curly fries hanging out of his mouth. He chomped down on them and swallowed as fast as he could. “Um. In all honesty, I was going for Ash.”

“Ash Hall? Why?” Kira blinked and did the nose crinkle thing. “They’re not very nice.”

“It’s the Hall Scott was put in.” Stiles shrugged, as if that settled everything. “We wanted to be in the same Hall. I guess I didn’t fudge enough of my answers on the test.”

The aptitude test, which asked magical knowledge and common sense questions, in order to sort students into their preferred Halls for the rest of their academic career. It was given to seventh graders after a year of classes at the school. Magical training started in sixth grade, but the first year they had all been sorted alphabetically.

“You lied on the test?” Kira sounded appalled.

“Everyone does,” Stiles said. He chugged his orange juice and set the cup down on his tray. “You didn’t?”

“Um, no,” Kira said. “I was too worried about getting an answer wrong, honestly.”

“There… It’s not a right-wrong type of test, Kira,” Stiles said.

Kira grimaced. “I know. Tests just get me keyed up. It doesn’t matter what kind they are.”

“I see why you’re in Martin Hall,” Stiles said. Kira beamed. “I thought about Martin, for a while, actually. I knew Lydia was going there.”

“Well, her family does own it,” Kira said. “But she really is brilliant. She’d have been placed there anyway. I always thought you’d have done better in Martin.”

“Class and research and stuff is something I do, not who I am,” Stiles said. He shrugged. “I could have done it, but I don’t think I’d have fit in.”

“Point.” Kira closed her book and glanced at the large clock on the wall. “Class starts soon. We should go. Rickonson has Herbology first, right? With Sierra?”

Sierra, the fourth and final Hall, where Allison had been placed. The home of the needlessly reckless and uncontrollably emotive. Stiles was glad he hadn’t been placed there. He didn’t think he could have handled the pure earnestness every single day of the school year.

“Yay Herbology.” Stiles sighed and stood, gathering up his things. The trays floated up over their heads and back to the kitchen to be cleaned. Kira fell into step beside him as they exited the dining hall. Herbology was on the far end of campus, in a building that housed a massive greenhouse. Ever since the mandrake incident of seventh grade, Stiles hated that building. And Herbology in general. Ms Morrell was brilliant and all, but madrakes sucked.

Stiles nudged Kira sideways a bit to pass a slower student, and hesitated when the movement caused the other student to stagger. He got a better look, and saw the student’s face was white as a sheet and he looked two seconds away from throwing up. “Whoa, man, are you okay?”

“Derek?” Kira crowded Stiles’ shoulder, worried.

Derek, apparently, sagged against the wall and doubled over. Stiles reached for him, but his knees gave. He dropped to his hands and knees and vomited awful black goo onto the linoleum floors.

“Holy shit.” Stiles gasped. “Sorry. Holy shit. We have to- Kira, help me get him to the medical wing.”

Stiles grabbed one of Derek’s arms and threw it over his shoulders. Kira grabbed Derek on his other side, and together they trudged through the halls, Derek a dead weight between them. Stiles kicked open the door to the medical office. “Ms McCall!”

She poked her head out of her office and frowned. She met them and guided them to an empty room, and helped settle Derek into a bed. He was frighteningly pale and barely breathing. “Make sure his airways stay clear,” Ms McCall said. “I have to get Deaton. Get me if he stops breathing.”

“What!?” Stiles hissed, but Ms McCall was already out the door. He turned to Kira, whose eyes were wide and scared. Only him. Seriously.

Derek jerked in the bed, choking, and Stiles scrambled to get him onto his side. He hopped up on the bed and braced Derek between his knees, both hands holding his head as more black ooze trickled from his mouth. “Oh my god. I’m going to hurl.”

Kira grabbed a napkin and wiped at the slime, showing no hesitation in the face of disgusting bodily functions. She tossed the napkins in the trash can and pressed one hand to Derek’s chest, grim determination on her face. Feeling his heartbeat. “Stiles-”

“Is he breathing? Is he dead?” Stiles gasped. “Oh my god.”

Ms McCall and Mr Deaton burst into the room, wands raised. Ms McCall shooed Stiles off the bed and pushed him and Kira back while Deaton gently tipped Derek’s slack face upwards. He pursed his lips. “Aconite poisoning.”

“What?” Stiles and Kira both gasped. Stiles bumped into Kira. He said, “How could he have ingested aconite?”

“We have to purge his system,” Deaton went on, ignoring Stiles. “Ms McCall, if you please.”

He ran his wand over Derek’s abdomen and Derek’s body bowed off the bed. Ms McCall placed a basin under Derek’s face in time to catch another violent retching. Derek’s breathing was coming in wet, choked gasps. Stiles swallowed. “He can’t breathe-”

Deaton waved his wand again, and forced Derek’s stomach up and out again. Stiles’ heart thrummed in his ears over Ms McCall’s soothing murmurs and Derek's gagging. “You’re going to kill him!”

“I know what I’m doing, Mr Stilinski. Perhaps you and Ms Yukimura are needed elsewhere.” Deaton didn’t even look at them, his attention focused on Derek.

Stiles wasn’t about to leave at this point, so he dragged Kira back against the wall with him, watching Deaton pump Derek’s stomach. When there wasn’t enough left for Derek to throw up, he stopped and set his wand down. He and Ms McCall held a quick, hushed conference over Derek’s body, and she nodded. Deaton swept out of the room without a backwards glance.

“Stiles. Again? Seriously?” Ms McCall turned to them. She wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm, gloved hands kind of gross at the moment.

“I didn’t do it this time!” Stiles said. “I just- We were leaving breakfast and he looked awful. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“No, you’re right. You saved his life, I think, if what Deaton says is right.” She smiled. “Thank you, and you, Kira.”

“Is it all right if I sit with him?” Kira asked. She twisted her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie. “He doesn’t…”

-have anyone else.

Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale, whose entire family died in a fire at their mansion a few years ago. Stiles’ father had been called in, because there was a suspicious line of mountain ash surrounding the room where the bodies had been found. Stiles remembered reading the reports, seeing the photographs that usually moved very still and quiet. They had scared him, but they weren’t his first experience with death.

“I’d like to sit, too,” Stiles said. Kira glanced at him, surprised. He ignored her.

Ms McCall nodded. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. He won’t wake up for some time, though.”

Kira immediately sat on the mattress, forgoing the chair to pull up her legs and nestle on the covers. Stiles sat in the chair and Ms McCall waited by the door. The door opened, and Deaton returned with a few vials in hand. He handed two to Ms McCall. Stiles watched her move towards the small table in the room, where she started mixing the ingredients.

Unperturbed by Kira perched on the bed, Deaton approached Derek and looked him over. “Much better.”

Ms McCall moved to the bedside and, with Deaton’s help, managed to get Derek slightly upright. She tipped a cup of something towards his lips, and held him while he swallowed it down. Kira shifted to give them room as they settled Derek against the pillows.

“Mr Stilinski, did you see anything that led to this?” Deaton asked. Seriously. The guy’s tone never changed.

Stiles shook his head. “We were just eating breakfast. I think he was eating too? He was going the same direction as us out of the mess hall. You think it was in his food? Why aren’t the rest of the students sick, then? We all ate the same thing.”

Deaton pressed his lips together and said nothing more. He caught Ms McCall’s eye, and excused himself from the room. Stiles stared at the door long after it had closed behind him. “What is going on here? I’ve seen him more in the last three days than the last four years of school.”

“He has a very specific skill set,” Ms McCall said. “And that comes in handy when working with children who tend to go wandering around in the Preserve that is strictly off limits. Stiles, please tell me you spoke with your father, because I do not want to be the one to break the news to him.”

“Yeah, I Flooed him yesterday after dinner,” Stiles said. “He asked if I wanted to go home. I said no.”

Kira watched the exchange in silence. She picked up one of her books and opened it in her lap. She sank into the words, her dark hair trailing over her shoulders. Beside her, Ms McCall spelled a ball of light over Derek’s chest that pulsed in time with his heart.

“Call me if this changes,” she said. “I’ll be right down the hall.”

“Okay.” Stiles fixed his eyes on the floating bauble. The door opened and clicked shut, and the glow didn’t change its rhythmic pulsing.

“You know her?” Kira asked softly.

“Scott’s mom,” Stiles said. “You’ve seen Scott, right?”

“Yeah, I know who Scott is.” Kira flushed slightly. “You two are joined at the hip.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. He glanced between her, her book, and Derek’s unconscious form. “Do you know him?”

“Kind of.” Kira shifted on the bed. “When I had just moved here, some kids were picking on me. He stepped in. We haven’t talked, or anything, but he always does stuff like that, you know? Even if he doesn’t know you.”

“Well, he is in Sierra. They don’t know how to stay out of things,” Stiles said. He stared at Derek’s slack face, tight with pain even in sleep. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt him?”

Kira frowned. “He’s not the most friendly person in the world, but I don’t think he would ever do anything to hurt someone. I don’t know. Do you think he was poisoned on purpose?”

“Aconite doesn’t accidentally make its way into magically prepared food,” Stiles said. “It was deliberate. But why? Who could possibly want to harm a student at the school?”

Kira’s eyes flashed. “Someone at the school poisoned his food?”

“Who else could it have been?” Stiles asked. “Who else would have access to student meals? Of course, that only narrows it down to a few hundred people. But it’s a start.”

The door banged open, and Professor Laura Hale flew into the room. Not literally, because even though she was the gym teacher at Beacon, one simply couldn’t fly brooms in the halls of the buildings. She figuratively flew into the room and dropped to her knees beside Derek’s bed. Stiles stood to offer her the chair, but she ignored him.

Laura was Derek’s older sister, who had disappeared with him in the wake of their family’s death. They’d returned a year later, and she was hired on the staff, and he had been pushed to complete his schooling. It made him the oldest student in his grade, by almost a year and a half, pushing twenty compared to the eighteen year olds in the senior class.

Laura grasped Derek’s limp hand in both of hers and pressed her cheek to their fingers. Kira slid from the bed, not wanting to intrude on a private moment, but Laura’s eyes flicked to them. “You can stay,” she said. She blinked back tears. “Please. It’s all right.”

“We don’t want to, er, intrude,” Stiles said. He shifted from foot to foot. Kira gripped her books tight to her chest.

“It’ll help, trust me,” Laura said. She tucked dark brown hair behind her ear. “Please.”

Kira sank onto the bed and tucked her ankles under her once more. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and resumed reading her book as if nothing had happened. Stiles lowered himself into the chair by the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. Laura glanced at him, brows drawn together in confusion. “I didn’t see what happened.”

“That’s not your fault, Stiles,” Laura said. She smiled. “You helped him. That’s what matters.”

Stiles leaned back against the chair. He pulled out one of the notebooks he had taken notes in and started reviewing them. Not only was the potion stupidly complicated to concoct, but the werewolf had to take it consecutively a full week before the full moon for it to have an effect. Probably something in the aconite that kept the wolf in check. But because aconite was so poisonous it had to be gradually introduced into the system…

“Derek?”

Stiles lifted his gaze to see Laura leaning over the bed, her hair falling around her face. Derek’s head was tipped towards hers, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. “Hey, bro, can you hear me?”

“Y-Yeah.” Derek’s voice was hoarse. “What happen’d?”

“Aconite poisoning,” Stiles said. Derek turned towards him, frowning. Stiles waved. “I brought you in. I’m Stiles.”

Derek scrunched up his face, like it was taking all of his power to concentrate. “What’s a Stiles?”

It would have been adorable if it wasn’t so insulting. Kira laughed, the traitor, and Derek set his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, and patted his leg. “You don’t remember me, but I’m Kira. I’m a sophomore.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Kitsune.”

“Yes!” Kira grinned, thrilled. “I have a kitsune charm. You do remember!”

Derek closed his eyes and squeezed Laura’s hand with a soft sigh. “Laura.”

“Okay. Okay.” Laura smoothed his hair back from his forehead and smiled at Stiles. “You two should get to class. What’s left of today, anyway.”

Stiles nodded and gathered up his things, the textbooks and his bag. Kira slipped out the door behind him, and closed it quietly. She caught his eye.

“If someone’s trying to hurt him, we need to do something,” she said.

“One of us could stay with him, keep an eye on him between classes. At lunch, and stuff,” Stiles suggested. Kira nodded.

“I can do that. He at least recognises me,” she said. “We should tell the teachers.”

“They already know,” Stiles said. “Deaton didn’t look happy, and someone poisoning the students is going to get investigated.”

“Stiles!”

Stiles whirled, and a grin spread wide on his face when he saw Scott, up and walking. Pale, but alive and very much not bleeding out of multiple wounds. Scott returned his grin and his massive bear hug, chin digging hard into the joint between neck and shoulder. Stiles gripped him tightly. He didn’t feel different.

“H-Hey, Scott.”

They separated and Stiles stepped back to let Scott greet Kira. “Scott, this is Kira. She’s in Martin Hall, with Lydia.”

“Yeah.” Scott grinned that lopsided grin of his, and he nodded. “Kitsune charm, right?”

Kira rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped. “That’s the first thing everyone says. I can do other things!”

“Yeah, but the kitsune charm is the coolest,” Scott said in complete honesty. Kira’s cheeks flushed. “It’s like- Like wearing an armor of fox!”

“Whoa,” Stiles said. “Brakes, Scott.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Scott said. He groaned. “Not like, a skinned fox. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m shutting up.”

Kira and Stiles laughed at him. Stiles clapped Scott’s shoulder, feeling for his embarrassment. Kira positively glowed with the attention, and she couldn’t stop smiling. She jerked a thumb towards the main doors. “We should try and at least make the last class of the day.”

“Oh goodie,” Stiles said. “I always wanted to get my ass handed to me by a smoking hot Dark Arts teacher after rescuing someone from drowning in his own vomit. Best day ever.”

“Dude, what?” Scott blinked at him.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles said. “Kira and I found him throwing up this gross black shit outside the mess hall. We saved his life! It was awesome.”

“My hero!” Scott laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	3. Sierra Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whoa, hold up, dude. I’m not his keeper or anything.” Stiles held his hands up. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”
> 
> “And I’m saying ‘thank you’,” Boyd said. He nodded to Stiles and walked back up the stairs, entering his Hall without another word.

The three of them pushed into cool afternoon air. Kira’s final class was Herbology, with the rest of the Martin Hall, so she split from them and jogged towards the greenhouse. Scott was a comforting warmth beside him, bumping shoulders when they walked too close together. Stiles could barely breathe past his relief, and the sensation didn’t abate when they sat down for class.

Ash and Rickonson Halls had Defense Against Dark Arts together, the class taught by arguably the hottest teacher in the entire school. Kate Argent. Blonde, bombastic, bad ass witch extraordinaire who had experience in the field fighting monsters with the stories to back it up. Not only was class exciting every day, but they actually learned shit that was applicable to real life.

Stiles and Scott slid into chairs in the back of the classroom just in time for class to start. Scott kicked Stiles’ ankle under the desk, and Stiles slapped him as Ms Argent walked across the front of the classroom. She stopped in the center and leaned against her desk. Folding her arms over her chest, she leveled a glare at all of them.

“What can you tell me about werewolves?” she asked.

Stiles went still and very deliberately did not look at Scott.

“They’re gross.” Jackson Whittemore called out from where he sat, surrounded by his buddies from Ash Hall.

Ms Argent leered, a sultry thing that held too much malice for Stiles to ignore. “Besides that. What are the signs?”

She spun off the desk and walked to the chalkboard. She scratched out ‘Full Moon’ on the surface.

“They look and act human,” Erica Reyes said. She hovered over an open notebook, pen in hand to take notes. Ms Argent nodded and motioned for her to continue. “There isn’t really a way to determine if they aren’t human until the full moon.”

“Close, but not quite,” Ms Argent said. She wrote as she talked. “Even in human form, werewolves have an acute sensitivity to silver and aconite. Can anyone tell me the lay name for aconite? Stiles?”

Stiles jerked, gripping his pen so hard the plastic creaked. He slumped in his chair and did not look at Scott. “Wolfsbane.”

“Excellent. Well done, Stiles.” Ms Argent grinned at him, all teeth and no eyes and Stiles felt cold to his bones.

After class, Scott trailed Stiles out of the room. He heaved a massive sigh of relief. “That was literally the most awkward class I have ever sat through.”

Stiles stared at him. “Didn’t you notice anything, I don’t know, predatory, about the way she talked about werewolves?”

Scott, bless his heart, blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Scott, I love you, man, but your people skills suck.” Stiles grabbed Scott’s collar and dragged him out of the flow of students into an empty hall. Stiles shoved him against the wall and held him there with a light touch to his sternum. “There is a reason she brought it up the day after the full moon set, in our class. There’s a reason she called on me. She knows something. And I don’t like her knowing what I don’t know.”

“What do we do?” Scott asked. Stiles tried to ignore the frantic thrum of his heart under Stiles’ fingertips.

“I’m going to look into the wolfsbane potion for you,” Stiles said, dropping his voice. Scott cocked his head. Stiles winced. “Didn’t you look any of this up yet? It will help you stay sane during the full moon. It can’t stop the transformation, but at least you won’t go tearing into your best friend. Namely me.”

“That’s awesome, Stiles,” Scott said. “Isn’t that potion really hard to make?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Stiles said. “There’s a wizard in Scotland that makes it like, every week. I’ll steal his notes. They have to be somewhere. I’ll figure it out, Scott.”

“I love you, man,” Scott said. Stiles grinned.

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘I love you’ back, dude.”

“It was a Star Wars- Oh my god, have you not seen Star Wars? What is wrong with you? What is wrong with me! I’m your best friend and you haven’t seen Star Wars. It’s better than Quidditch, trust me.”

“Shut up. Don’t talk so loudly, Jackson will hear you.”

After dinner, Stiles ensconced himself in his room, poring over the books he had taken from the library. Homework was a distant memory when faced with the sheer amount of ingredients he would need for this brew. Need to steal. It’s not like there was an amazon.wizard he could pull up on his wall. Which, he should invent that. He would make bank. Focus, Stiles.

He would definitely have to break into Harris’ chemical closet. And possibly Deaton’s herbal stash. Stiles wasn’t sure what a gameskeeper was doing with so many different herbs, but Deaton’s collection rivaled Ms Morrell’s. He had heard a rumour somewhere that they were related, but he had also heard from the same person that Lydia was dating that Aidan Hunt guy from Ash Hall. Which. Ridiculous.

It was kind of confusing having so many different styles of magic around them, but it was also kind of awesome. What one style couldn’t do, another had a work around. Roman magic, which had been passed down from ancient times to most of Europe, could provide a barrier directly in front of the spellcaster. This left the rear open to attack.

Now, First Nations’ magic could cover that. A handful of mountain ash in a circle around oneself prevented harmful spells from hitting. Anything with bad intentions did not cross the barrier. The only downside is that it took time, concentration, and at least a finger of mountain ash.

Eastern magic was pretty incredible. Stiles would never be able to master the body movement that controlled their power, but their charms were a bit easier to figure out. Like Roman magic, their words held power, but only when written in flowing, ancient script. The charms were like wands, a focus on the power. The body movement was the intent. Stiles could read a thousand books on the subject and still only scratch the surface.

Kira’s kitsune charm was tattooed along her spine. Stiles had caught sight of it during a Quidditch match when her shoulder pad had torn free in a grab for the Snitch. Stiles kind of really, really wanted a charm like that, but it took years of physical training to be able to control something as powerful as a kitsune charm, and Stiles knew he didn’t have the patience or mindset for it.

And, because Rome seemed to be the heart of the werewolf problem, with the she-wolf suckling Remus and Romulus, Stiles couldn’t reference any other helpful texts from other parts of the world. Lycanthropy was rapidly becoming a global issue, but for a few blessed centuries it had been confined to Europe.

And now it was in California.

Fantastic.

Stiles shoved aside his pile of potions books and grabbed at the local newspapers scattered across his floor. He stared at them until his vision swam, looking for something that would direct him to the monster that bit Scott. There were no reports of maulings, nothing out of the ordinary for a quiet Wizarding town.

A few hours later, Stiles had a list of ingredients he’d have to… appropriate, and a plan of attack that may or may not have involved setting piglets free in the halls.

 _Flying_ piglets. Let it not be said he was uncreative.

The piglets created chaos for the teachers and shut down the entire school for an hour while Deaton gathered other teachers to help him round up all the squealing, squirming little creatures. Stiles was in and out of Harris’ chemical stash before anyone noticed he was missing from his trigonometry class.

Well, almost anyone.

He slipped back into his chair to find Lydia Martin staring at him from across the room, lips pursed and perfect eyebrows drawn together. The bottles Stiles took hung heavy in his jacket pockets, and he sank lower in his chair. For the first time in his short little life, he tried to ignore Lydia.

He felt the burning pressure of her stare until the teacher came back and resumed the lesson, a feather stuck in her hair. Stiles didn’t let himself laugh.

When classes had finished for the day, Stiles found Scott and dragged him into the basement of the education building. Nobody went into the basement, but to make certain nobody would bother them, Stiles chose the room no sane student would dare set foot in.

“Stiles, this is the girl’s bathroom,” Scott said. They stood outside the door.

“Yeah. The haunted girl’s bathroom. Nobody ever comes down here. It’s perfect,” Stiles said. He jiggled the door handle and pushed his way into the cool, dark room.

He dropped his backpack on the ground in the center of the room, and Scott set his down by the door. They checked all the stalls, and when they were satisfied the room was empty, they sat on the floor facing each other. Stiles dragged a huge book out of his backpack. “This will help your Potions grade, too. Pay attention. Wolfsbane potion will help you not go crazy during the full moon. You won’t try to eat me, and I can help you not bite anyone else.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You can’t be around me on the full moon. I’ll eat you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I love you like a brother, Scott, but I don’t think you have it in you to eat a rabbit. I’m not scared.”

“This isn’t a game, Stiles.” Scott looked serious, as serious as Stiles had ever seen him, and Stiles’ body stilled in response. “I could seriously hurt you. I don’t want you hanging around me.”

“I’m your best friend,” Stiles said. He lowered his voice and resisted the urge to grab Scott and shake sense into him. “I can handle your furry little problem. It’s what best friends do. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Scott’s lips quirked into a hesitant smile. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, I know. You can keep telling me, though. Now pay attention.”

It probably would have been easier to set up the brewery in Stiles’ dorm room. He didn’t room with anyone, so there was no chance they’d be found out. But letting Scott into the building all the time would have raised some eyebrows. With the faculty, at least. The other students knew Stiles and Scott were the Dynamic Duo and didn’t even try to refer to them as individuals.

And there was the small issue of running to the basement between classes to perfect the incremental stirring process, or make sure the smoke was turning just the right shade of green. The brew was a painstaking, horrible process, and Stiles started to hate every second of it. Made worse when Scott ditched him to hang out with Allison.

Stiles sighed and slumped against the bathroom wall on one such occasion. He had another five minutes before the next round of stirring began. Counterclockwise, precisely six times. How the hell had Damocles figured out the method to this precision? It was sheer insanity. Stiles couldn’t fathom it.

And then the bathroom door opened.

Stuck in the middle of the floor with literally nowhere to hide, Stiles closed his eyes and waited for discovery.

“What are you doing?”

Stiles’ eyes flew open when Lydia’s voice rang against stark linoleum. He gaped at her, brain scrambling for something to say. Anything. Anything at all, really-

“What?”

Smarter than that would have been better, but okay.

Lydia stepped further into the room and shut the door behind her. Being the brilliant girl she was, she threw the deadbolt and crouched beside him. She took in the mess of notes, books, and scattered papers surrounding the bubbling cauldron. She narrowed her eyes. “Who do you know that’s a werewolf?”

Stiles gawked. “W-What? Nobody! Why would you say that-”

“Stiles.” Lydia nailed him with an unimpressed glare. “Wolfsbane is a graduate potion. I’m not a moron.”

“It’s for extra credit?” Stiles tried. Lydia lifted a perfect eyebrow.

“So if I go to Harris, he’ll let me take this project for extra credit?” she asked. Stiles wilted, and Lydia smirked. “So what exactly is going on with you? You and Scott have been acting very strange the last week. Allison’s told me too much about it and I want to hear from the other end.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said. He leaned forward and grabbed the spoon resting inside the cauldron. He performed the required turning of the potion before continuing. “I’m trying to brew wolfsbane potion.”

“Yes, this I can see,” Lydia said. “I want to know why you, a sophomore, are trying to brew a potion that the greatest Potions master in the world has difficulty brewing.”

“I might know someone who is afflicted by lycanthrophy,” Stiles admitted under his breath.

“It’s Scott, isn’t it? That’s why you were both out of class the day after the full moon.” Lydia nodded, confirming her own deduction. “Or is it both of you? Scott couldn’t have come up with the wolfsbane idea-”

“Not me,” Stiles said quickly. “I’m lycanthropy clean. Free. Whatever. Lydia, I adore you, really, I do, but this potion requires actual concentration and with you sitting here-”

“Okay.” Lydia cut him off. Stiles blinked at her.

“Wait. What?”

“Okay.” She sank to the floor and shucked her jacket. She peeled off her heels and started sifting through Stiles’ notes on the floor. “I’ll help you.”

“Um,” Stiles said helpfully. She cast a Look at him.

“You realise how hard it is to make this, right?” She reminded him. Stiles was well aware exactly how difficult it was to brew wolfsbane properly. He had spent the better part of four days just getting it started. “You need my help.”

Stiles wasn’t about to turn down help from arguably the smartest person in the entire school (yes, including the teachers). “Lydia, nobody can know about this.”

“If you keep insulting my intelligence, I am going right to Harris with his bottles you’ve managed to procure,” Lydia said out of the corner of her mouth. She was already engrossed in Stiles’ haphazard diagram of the aconite plant. And she was already marking it up with corrections in red pen. Damn it. He had spent six hours on that. “Don’t you have class with Sierra right now?”

“Um, the potion needs to be stirred in half an hour,” Stiles said. “I was going to skip.”

“My next class isn’t until two,” Lydia said. She held out her hand. “Give me the instructions. I’ll watch it.”

Stiles stared at her. “You wouldn’t give me the time of day before now. Why are you doing this?”

She sighed. “Do you think every genius witch gets a chance to brew wolfsbane and have it actually field tested? Give me the instructions and get to class. We can’t have you failing if you’re going to be my friend.”

Stiles didn’t have time to process his shock. Lydia shoved him out the door and locked it behind him, and Stiles was left standing in the hall, gaping at what had just happened. Lydia. Martin. Had talked to him. Had spoken more than five words to him. In a row!

Stiles bolted, taking the stairs to the ground level two at a time. He managed to slide into class just in time for the doors to shut behind him, and he dropped into the first free seat. He was so absorbed in situating himself that he didn’t realise he had crashed the Sierra side of the classroom until Allison nudged him in the ribs.

He looked up and saw Boyd twisted around in his chair, staring at him. It was too late to change seats now, the teacher was already taking role. Stiles sank down in his chair and tried to make himself as small as possible when his name was called. The teacher gave him an odd look, but said nothing, even when the rest of his Hall shook their heads at him.

Stiles nudged Boyd’s chair with his foot. “Hey.”

Boyd ignored him, so Stiles poked his ass with his foot. Boyd jumped, and turned to glare at Stiles. Stiles leaned over his desk and lowered his voice to a hiss. “How’s Derek doing?”

Boyd’s eyebrows did a complicated dance, and Stiles waited impatiently, his pen hanging out of his mouth. Half a minute passed in silence, and Stiles grunted. “Well? Is he back home? Is he going to class? What happened? I saved his ass, you know. I’m invested, now.”

“He’s home. He was released this morning,” Boyd said. Stiles figured he was so surprised he couldn’t think to say anything but the truth.

Boyd was the captain’s second in Sierra’s Quidditch team, to Derek Hale's captain. He was literally the most non-aggressive Beater Stiles had ever seen play in the history of the sport. Ash’s Beaters would go after you with the bat if they could, but Boyd sat on his broom and knocked the Bludgers towards the ground most times. It was an admirable, if not productive, way to play.

“He didn’t say anything about you,” Boyd said, and wow, rude. Derek could remember Kira’s kitsune charm but not Stiles? Okay.

“No big deal, just saved his life is all,” Stiles said. He slumped back in his chair when the teacher’s eyes pinned him, displeasure creasing his face.

 

 

 

After class, Stiles gathered up his books and was trying to make a stealthy getaway when Boyd stepped in his path. Stiles froze. Boyd looked incredibly uncomfortable, and horrified that he had to actually talk to Stiles, and he said, “Do you want to see him?”

“Whoa. What? Like, go back to your Hall with you? Usually I’d make you buy me dinner first, but-”

“Stiles.” Boyd groaned. His face contorted hilariously in exasperation.

“Yeah, that would be great, though. Um, right now?” Stiles glanced at his watch. He had to get back to the basement to relieve Lydia.

“After dinner,” Boyd said. “I have another class right now. But I’ll meet you outside the mess hall at six?”

“Sure, sounds great,” Stiles said. Boyd nodded and disappeared in the crowd of students. Stiles was still processing what happened when he turned around and ran smack into Allison.

“Stiles,” she said.

“Allison.”

“I didn’t know you knew Boyd,” she said. She grasped the handle on her messenger bag and shifted it on her shoulder.

“I don’t? I mean, I know of him. He’s in your Hall, but I don’t really talk to him much-”

“You were talking to him right now,” she pointed out.

“What is this, Interrogate Stiles Day and nobody told me?” Stiles pushed past her and started down the hall.

She caught up with him easily, weaving through the crowds of students changing classes. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I just- You’re Scott’s best friend, so I want to get to know you. That was an attempt at conversation.”

“You’re almost as bad as me,” Stiles said. That got a smile out of her. Conversation salvaged, good job, Stilinski.

“Um, actually, I did want to ask you something,” Allison said. “Does Scott seem different to you?”

“How do you mean?” Stiles asked. He turned down a less populated hall and paused.

“He’s quieter. What happened in the Preserve?” Allison asked. “I know you guys were attacked, but I’m sure whatever animal was out there is gone now. That’s why my dad’s here. To keep the campus safe. He told me he got a large mountain lion the other day. I don’t understand what happened.”

“Traumatic experiences change people,” Stiles said. He thumped his shoulders against the wall and tipped his head at her. “He’s probably having nightmares and won’t admit to it. I can talk to him, if you want.”

Allison smiled, and wow, she really was incredibly beautiful and if Scott hadn’t gotten to her first, Stiles might have been interested. Also if Lydia hadn’t existed.

“Hey, girl!”

Stiles and Allison jumped, startled, as Kate Argent slid into place beside Allison, and draped her arm over the girl’s shoulders. Allison smiled wider. “Hey, Aunt Kate!”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Aunt. I knew you were related. Wait, does that mean-”

“Yeah, the principal is my father,” Ms Argent said.

“Interim principal,” Stiles corrected. Ms Argent waved his correction away absently. Stiles gritted his jaw. The only reason Gerard Argent was in place was because their actual principal was overseas in England, helping in the fight against the Dark Lord. “So that means Mr Argent is your brother?”

“Right in one, you’re so clever, Stiles,” Ms Argent said. She laughed, and Stiles pressed harder against the wall. Something about her made him uneasy. “So, are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

“Yeah. I have one more class but after that we’re both free,” Allison said. She smiled at her aunt. Ms Argent leaned over her niece, and a long necklace swung free from her blouse.

An amulet was attached to the end of the chain, depicting a four legged creature and what looked like a quiver of arrows. Before Stiles could get a look at it, Ms Argent had tucked it back into her shirt with a toothy grin. “I look forward to it,” she said. “Nice running into you, Stiles.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles said without enthusiasm. Ms Argent led her niece away, and Stiles whirled and took off down the hall. He scampered down the small flight of stairs leading to the basement. He rapped on the bathroom door and Lydia let him in, closing the door behind him.

They both sat in front of the cauldron, watching it bubble, while an awkward silence settled over them. Stiles cleared his throat. “So what do you think of Ms Argent?”

Lydia’s face hardened. “I hate her. Just because she’s been in the field doesn’t make her fit to be a teacher, nor does it give her authority to speak to the principles of magical defense. Also all the boys are too busy fawning over her to pay attention to group projects in the class. It’s infuriating.”

“Wow. Okay. That is valuable information,” Stiles said. “I think she’s up to something. She keeps leering at me during class.”

“Don’t let her get you alone,” Lydia said. She pursed her lips and cast her eyes to Stiles. “I’m serious, Stiles.”

“You’re not worried about me, are you?” Stiles asked, grinning. “Because that sounds like concern.”

“You’re my ticket to an Order of Merlin. Of course I’m worried about you surviving school,” she said. She handed Stiles the potion instructions, complete with her comments and notations. “I don’t like how she looks at the boys in the class. It’s not right. She shouldn’t be a teacher.”

“Okay. Now you’re actually freaking me out,” Stiles said. He leaned closer to her. “Do you know something?”

Lydia pressed her lips together and shook her head. A few strands of strawberry blonde pulled free of her bun and floated around her cheeks, and she brushed at them impatiently. “Aren’t you a little concerned that her father is the one running the school? And her brother is in charge of campus security? Seems a bit too perfect, if you ask me.”

Stiles slumped back against the wall and rolled his shoulders against it, trying to unkink some of his tension. “Yeah. It’s definitely weird. I hadn’t thought much about it, though. I mean. It’s not like they could take over the school, right?”

Stiles was not comforted by the look Lydia shot him, and he set his jaw. Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he gestured to the potion. “I’m good. I’ve got it for the rest of the day.”

Lydia nodded and pushed to her feet. She slipped her shoes back on and slung her jacket over her bag.

“Hey, Lydia,” Stiles said when she had one hand on the door handle. She turned. “Thanks.”

“Don’t screw it up, Stiles,” she warned. Stiles grinned.

“I mean it, Lydia. Thank you.”

She graced him with the barest smile, genuine and clear like the sun coming over the horizon after a long night, and then she was gone, the door closing behind her. Stiles leaned against the bathroom wall and went over the notes she had left.

The potion was almost complete. It would be okay by itself for the night, so Stiles packed all of his homework up and made his way to the mess hall to grab dinner. Scott and Allison were schmoozing at a desegregated table, and Stiles didn’t have the energy to deal with their lovey eyes, so he slid into a seat next to Isaac, who ignored him.

Just as well, Stiles scarfed down a quick dinner and ran to meet Boyd.

Boyd leaned against the wall outside of the hall, and Stiles waved at him. “Yo.”

Boyd, predictably, said nothing, and pushed himself away from the wall. Stiles knew where Sierra Hall was, he’d just never been inside it. Sierra Hall was on the North side of campus, towards the Preserve and away from the busier education and library buildings. It was set behind a line of gorgeous trees, and Stiles followed Boyd up the small flight of stairs to the front door.

Boyd glared at him until Stiles realised he was about to give the password, and Stiles stepped back, out of earshot. Jeez. Sure, he’d remember the password but he would probably not use it for nefarious purposes like putting hair dye in the shower water or switching the fluffy towels with parchment. Those ideas had never crossed his mind. Before this second.

The door opened and Boyd waved Stiles inside.

It looked remarkably similar to Rickonson Hall. The front door opened to a long, concrete hallway on the first floor, with a stairwell starting upwards to their left. Stiles could hear the sounds of students laughing down the first hall, probably from the lounge. At the very far end, Stiles could see the Hall dining room. The biggest difference he could pinpoint was Sierra’s Hall colours. Black and green to Rickonson’s brown and green.

“Huh,” Stiles managed. Boyd lifted an eyebrow at him. So far he had made a very poor tour guide. He hadn’t spoken a word the entire trip here. “I thought you guys would have, like, pictures of Hercules or Samson hanging all over the place. You know, figures of heroic sacrifice. Seems up your alley.”

“You never stop talking, do you?” Boyd asked, in honest bewilderment. The poor man.

“My father says it’s a gift,” Stiles said. “Um, should I wait here… or?”

“I can’t leave you here, Deaton would make you leave. Come with me.”

Right. Stiles climbed the stairs behind Boyd, ignoring the stares he got from passing students. Deaton was head of Sierra Hall, and his office was right down the corridor. Man, the stairwell even echoed like it did in Rickonson.

Boyd took them all the way up to the top floor- seven- and stepped into the hall. Stiles was forced to duck as a screeching ball of feathery death came barreling at his head. He squawked, and it zoomed over him, out the window right behind him.

“Whoa, sorry, dude!” Came the apology from somewhere down the hall.

The corridor was alive with motion, students moving from room to room, talking, chatting, and being generally much friendlier than Stiles was used to in his own Hall. He mostly kept to himself, but even during finals his corridor was not this loud. Finals week always had the entire floor in the corridor, studying together in a last ditch cramming effort.

Boyd deftly maneuvered them through the raucous hall, and stopped in front of the only closed door on the floor. Boyd rapped his knuckles against it and waited. He must have heard a response from within, because he said, “It’s Boyd. I have someone who wants to see you.”

“Someone wants to see Hale!?” A student paused what she was doing and stared blatantly at them until Boyd shot her a downright frightening glare and she scurried away. Stiles was beginning to think this was not the best idea ever, but before he could say anything the door opened.

Derek Hale, captain of the Sierra Hall Quidditch team, stood in the doorway. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but he wasn’t puking his lungs up on the floor, so that was a vast improvement from the last time they had met. Stiles cleared his throat.

“Hi, I’m Stiles, I brought you to the nurse’s office the other day when you almost died. I just wanted to make sure you were still alive, and you are, which is great. Just great news. I’m really happy for you.” Stiles exhaled, shrinking under Derek’s intense stare.

“Why?” Derek asked. His face contorted as he tried to process what Stiles had said.

“Why what? Why am I happy that you’re alive? Because dead sucks, dude,” Stiles said. He winced, instantly regretting his choice of words. This was the kid whose entire family had died horribly. Smooth, Stiles, smooth.

“Why did you help me?” Derek clarified. Or didn’t.

“Because that’s what human beings do? They help each other,” Stiles said.

“You should have left it alone.” And Derek slammed the door in his face. Like, so swiftly Stiles felt a breeze.

Blinking, Stiles stared at the door as he tried to figure out what exactly had just happened. He was vaguely aware of someone laughing at him from further down the hall, but that was nothing new. Besides, Boyd did another one of his angry faces and made the person disappear. Anger started to surface.

“I bet you wouldn’t slam a door in Kira’s face!” Stiles shouted at the door. He slapped his hand against it and clenched his fists in frustration. Fine. Don’t thank him. Story of Stiles’ life. He glanced at Boyd. “Thanks, man.”

Boyd looked strangely sympathetic, and went so far as to follow Stiles back down to the first floor as his escort. They stepped out into the encroaching night and Boyd stopped Stiles’ with a hand to his arm.

“He hasn’t been the same since-” Boyd trailed off, and Stiles knew what he was talking about. Everyone knew. “He’s a good guy. He was a good guy. Something happened. And he won’t talk to anyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“That was strangely supportive, and more words than you’ve spoken to me all year,” Stiles said. “Thanks.”

Boyd flicked his eyes to the seventh floor. “He won’t say it, but thank you. He’s always looked out for us. It’s nice to know someone is looking out for him.”

“Whoa, hold up, dude. I’m not his keeper or anything.” Stiles held his hands up. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“And I’m saying ‘thank you’,” Boyd said. He nodded to Stiles and walked back up the stairs, entering his Hall without another word.

Stiles found himself casting one last glance at the seventh floor before trudging back to his own Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	4. The Full Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Exactly. So you already have very little human traffic,” Lydia said. She folded her legs under her. “If Deaton were to set up a barrier around the House, and leave Scott inside it on the full moon, Scott wouldn’t be able to escape. Mountain ash prevents anything with ill intent from crossing the line. Scott loses his mind, tries to go after Deaton with ill intent, and the barrier stops him. Nobody else gets involved. It’s actually rather prudent. Better than arming a safe room here and worrying about Scott breaking out and mauling students.”

The next day found Stiles sitting with Lydia on the floor of the abandoned girl’s restroom, staring at the bubbling potion. The smoke was supposed to be blue.

There were approximately six million shades of blue.

“He’s going to die,” Stiles said. “We did it wrong.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “It’s not wrong. It is clearly a shade of blue.”

“He’s going to die. Oh my god. I’m going to kill my best friend.” Stiles moaned and collapsed to the floor while Lydia watched him roll around. The door clicked and started to open, and Stiles said, “No, Scott, go away. We failed.”

Stiles twisted his head to see Allison, not Scott, push the bathroom door open. She was followed by Scott, but she was standing in the bathroom. She waved awkwardly at Stiles, who stared at her upside down.

“Scott, this isn’t what I meant when you said you can’t tell anyone,” Stiles said. “Not telling anyone means, well, it means not telling anyone.”

“Hey, if you can bring your girlfriend then I can bring mine,” Scott said.

Lydia snorted, and Stiles sat up so fast he strained something. “She’s not my girlfriend! Jesus, Scott. You’re killing me.”

“Apparently you’re going to be doing the killing. What do you mean you failed?” Scott asked. He ignored Stiles’ sputtering and sat down around the cauldron.

“The smoke is supposed to be blue.” Stiles gestured at the cauldron, which bubbled away happily. Scott squinted at it.

“It looks blue to me.”

“Hah!” Lydia grinned, pleased. “I told you.”

“So what is this?” Allison asked. She knelt beside the cauldron between Stiles and Scott.

“It’s supposed to be wolfsbane potion,” Stiles said. “Extra credit. Thing.”

“Why are you brewing it in the girl’s bathroom?” Allison asked. “Can’t you use one of the Potions classrooms?”

“If we lived in a world that made sense, yes,” Stiles said. “But we don’t, so we’re here.”

“It’s not for extra credit,” Lydia said. “It’s for a werewolf.”

Allison’s eyes went wide, but she otherwise held her composure. “There’s a werewolf on campus?”

Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt. Lydia slapped his leg and he waved at Scott to get on with the admission.

“Yeah,” Scott said, dragging the word out in a way that usually preceded a big fat lie out of his mouth. Stiles glared at him. “There’s a werewolf on campus. We’re trying to help him.”

Stiles and Lydia both leveled unimpressed glares at him, while Allison nodded. “Okay. I want to help him too, then.”

Scott smiled in that dopey, puppy way of his, and Stiles was glad they were in a bathroom because he felt like throwing up. Allison glanced at her watch. “Oh, I promised I’d meet my father for lunch today. Can I come back later?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Scott said. He smiled into the quick kiss Allison gave him, and watched her as she walked out the door, her bag swinging behind her. “She’s great.”

“Scott,” Stiles said. Scott glanced at him, hearts still in his eyes. “If you bring her down here, you’re going to have to tell her.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Lydia said. They both look at her, and she frowned at them. “Hello? She’s an Argent? Her family literally hunts magical creatures. Guess who is a magical creature with a particular taste for human flesh?”

“Me,” Scott said. He went a little pale at the thought, and Lydia nodded. “But we already told her there’s a werewolf on the grounds.”

“Which is partial truth. Enough truth to distract her from what is actually going on here,” she said. “It’s best that we keep your identity between us until we know that your girlfriend isn’t going to kill you in your sleep.”

“Allison wouldn’t do that.” Scott looked startled. Lydia scowled at him. Scott cast a pleading look at Stiles. “She wouldn’t!”

Stiles didn’t want to get involved in this. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think we did it right, Scott. But it’s up to you if you want to drink it or not.”

“I trust you guys,” Scott said. “Deaton said he has some place for me to go on the full moon. He’s going to pull me out of class with a note and make sure it’s safe, that I don’t hurt anyone.”

“Deaton?” Stiles glanced at Lydia. She looked just as surprised.

“Yeah, he’s like some magical werewolf guru.” Scott grinned. “They’re going to let me stay in school because they can manage the, erm-”

“Your furry little problem,” Stiles provided. Scott’s grin widened and he nodded. “Well that’s good to know. Did they not think about wolfsbane?”

“Deaton mentioned it, but it’s too expensive for us.” Scott’s cheeks coloured. “It would have to be imported from Salem, and that costs a fortune.”

“Hey, it’s okay, man. I got your back.” Stiles clapped Scott’s shoulder and gripped. Scott smiled gratefully at him. “Where is this place, exactly?”

“It’s some ruins in the Preserve,” Scott said. Stiles stilled.

“His safe house is the Hale House?” Stiles asked. “That place is a burnt out shell! There’s no building there, it’s just crumbling support frames. I’m starting to seriously doubt his expertise.”

Lydia tapped a finger to her lips. “Well, maybe not. Who goes near the Hale House?”

“Nobody. It’s too dangerous. And it’s haunted,” Stiles said.

“Exactly. So you already have very little human traffic,” Lydia said. She folded her legs under her. “If Deaton were to set up a barrier around the House, and leave Scott inside it on the full moon, Scott wouldn’t be able to escape. Mountain ash prevents anything with ill intent from crossing the line. Scott loses his mind, tries to go after Deaton with ill intent, and the barrier stops him. Nobody else gets involved. It’s actually rather prudent. Better than arming a safe room here and worrying about Scott breaking out and mauling students.”

“Thanks,” Scott said, his voice weak. Lydia shrugged.

“Okay. So we have, what, two weeks to find where the Hale House is? I can pull my Dad’s police reports and-”

“What? Stiles, no,” Scott said. “You can’t come with me on this.”

“Like hell I can’t. We’ll see this through, you and me.” Stiles snatched a notepad and started writing down possible coordinates of the Hale House based on what he remembered from the police reports. Scott reached out and yanked the pad away.

“Stiles, you can’t come with me,” Scott said. “It’s not safe.”

“When have we ever done the safe thing?” Stiles asked. “Look, you’ll have the potion, and I know you won’t hurt me, all right? It’ll be fine.”

Behind Scott, Lydia pursed her lips but said nothing. Stiles ignored her judging face and snatched his notepad back from Scott.

 

 

 

They started Scott on his regimen exactly a week before the full moon, calculated by Lydia. With Lydia and Stiles in different Halls, it was easier to split the burden of watching him and making sure he took the potion on time. Scott said it tasted disgusting, but he wasn’t showing signs of aconite poisoning, so Stiles took it as a good sign. Lydia insisted it was supposed to taste like horseshit. Not in those words, but the general idea.

Stiles managed to pinpoint the Hale House ruins a few days before the full moon. He took a cursory trip out on his broom, over the treetops, and found the land without too much searching. He was sure he’d be able to do it again at night, and definitely by the light of the full moon.

Deaton pulled Scott out of their shared Potions class, and Harris was unimpressed with the thumbs up Stiles gave Scott. As soon as their classes were over, Stiles stuff dinner in his face and ran back to his dorm. He already had a bag packed, and was borrowing Isaac’s broom for the evening. Morning. Week. Whatever.

Stiles took a leap of faith out his window and onto the broom, praying there weren’t any students below him. He took off towards the forest. Dusk was settling in, casting a brilliant orange glow to the landscape, and the moon would be up in a few hours.

He made it to the Hale House as darkness finally claimed the land, and Stiles set down inside the ring of mountain ash. He could feel it humming around them, locking in the evil that was going to happen there that night. Stiles was never going to doubt Deaton’s knowledge again. He felt the magic like a living thing, crawling along his skin.

“Scott? Scott?” Stiles kept his voice a low hiss as he moved through the burnt out shell of a house.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice drifted around the corner and Stiles saw him moving. Scott shifted and appeared in front of Stiles so quickly Stiles took a step back. “Stiles, you shouldn’t be here. I told you it’s not safe.”

“Relax. I have some tricks up my sleeve. I came prepared. How are you feeling? Murdery? Do you want to go running through the woods and mount the first tree you find?” Stiles asked.

“That’s not funny,” Scott said. Stiles struck a match and lit the torch he brought with him. Scott was pale in the firelight.

“Wow, you look like shit, dude,” Stiles said. Scott laughed.

“It feels like I have the flu. My joints are achy, and I can’t focus on anything.”

“You’re getting old, bro. Gotta work on that.” Stiles tried to keep the topic light. According to Lydia’s calculations, the moon would be coming up any minute. The true test of their potion.

“Stiles, I really, really don’t think this is a good idea,” Scott said. He leaned against a crumbling wall, and Stiles wasn’t entirely sure it would hold him. “I really think you should go.”

“Worst comes to worst I will bug out, okay?” Stiles offered. “Does that make you feel better? I borrowed Isaac’s broom to get here, I can fly out and your wolfy ass won’t be able to catch up.”

“Good. Good.” Scott reached out to pat Stiles’ arm but missed, catching air. He toppled a bit, and Stiles grabbed at him. “No, seriously, get back.”

He yanked out of Stiles’ grasp and threw himself towards the other side of the house. Stiles held the torch up, trying to keep him in Stiles’ line of sight. The moon was rising over the treeline, casting an unnatural glow over their surroundings.

Stiles really did not like the noises Scott was making, from the whimpering to the shifting and creaking of bones snapping and reforming. Stiles’ dinner tried to make a reappearance, but Stiles swallowed it down hard, the torch clenched tight in a fist. When the moon completed its climb over the treeline, Stiles could see a bundle of clothes and limbs. Limbs that had more fur on them than a few minutes ago.

Stiles watched as the creature pushed shakily to newly formed feet, and looked around, scenting the air. It was a werewolf, all right. Protruding snout, large ears, and wider, nocturnal eyes. Scott’s back was hunched even as he stood on two legs and tipped his nose to the moon.

The howl pierced Stiles’ bones, making him burn with the need to run, escape, flee. Stiles held carefully still, and tried to breathe through the sheer panic that flooded his body. This was not his best idea ever.

Scott turned to him, seeing him for the first time since his transformation. Stiles swallowed hard, his throat clicking. “Scott, buddy, hey. Are you in there?”

Scott tilted his head, and it was such a characteristically Scott thing to do that Stiles almost laughed in relief. It had worked. It had-

He was on his back before he could process what had happened, sharp splinters of wood punching through his hoodie and scraping skin. Scott was on him, teeth bared and drooling in his face. Stiles froze, terror overwhelming his ability to either fight or flight, and he knew for certainty that Scott was going to tear his throat out.

Scott reared back suddenly, his ears going flat against his skull, and Stiles sucked in a desperate breath as the weight lifted from his chest. He choked on it when a shadow came flying out of the remains of the house and tackled Scott to the ground in a mess of teeth and claws.

Stiles scrambled back on his hands, kicking the ground with his heels to get away. As fast as he could. He slammed against a wall and watched the fight unfold in front of him. It was the wolf from the day Scott was bit. Huge, ferocious, and baring his incredibly massive teeth at Scott. And backing up.

Towards Stiles.

Stiles couldn’t breathe, panic clutched too tight around his lungs, as the wolf planted himself over Stiles and continued to snarl at Scott. Stiles was close enough to feel the vibrations of the growl through the wolf’s body. Scott made a few hesitant snaps in Stiles’ direction, and was beat back each time by the massive wolf. Eventually, Scott gave up and slunk off into the shadows of the house.

The wolf whirled on Stiles, muscled bunching under smooth, beautiful fur. Stiles pressed hard against the section of wall and tried to breathe. “Thanks. Um, thanks.”

The wolf snarled and nipped at Stiles’ ankles. Stiles jerked his legs away, and the wolf snapped his jaws at Stiles’ ass. Stiles leapt to his feet to get out of the way. “Shit! I’m sorry! Don’t- Oh my god-”

The wolf snapped at him again, and Stiles stumbled over himself in his haste to get away. He ran, in the opposite direction from Scott, and the wolf was right behind him on his heels the whole time.

Stiles had cleared the wreckage when the second wolf showed up, coat a downy brown in the light of the moon. Stiles slid to a halt to gape, only to be scared into action when the first wolf yipped at him.

They flanked him, sending him running away from the house and into the Preserve proper. Stiles was going to die. He was definitely going to die. The wolves were going to tear him limb from limb and-

He slammed into something both soft and hard, and bounced back hard enough to send him to the ground.

“Stiles?”

Stiles’ eyes widened. Deaton stood over him, a torch in hand. Holy shit the guy was a brick shithouse. Who knew he was packing solid muscle under those button ups? Yeah Stiles had gone insane.

“I suppose I should have planned on this,” Deaton said. He offered Stiles a hand up, and Stiles grasped it, unsurprised to find he was shaking badly. His legs held, though, and he glanced back to see the two wolves that had chased him out of the house standing right behind him.

He jumped about a foot in the air and grabbed Deaton’s muscle-bound arm. Deaton wasn’t to be moved, though, and just held the torch towards the wolves. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

The wolves _nodded_. And turned to lope back towards the house. Stiles saw spots flash in his vision. He sucked in a sharp breath. “What the shit is going on here?”

“Stiles, I need you to calm down. You’re safe now. I promise you. Breathe evenly.” Deaton was in front of him, his face wavering in the light of the torch.

Stiles forced his lungs to obey him, and managed, “What is going on here?”

“It’s a full moon, Stiles, there are wolves out,” Deaton said in his obnoxiously level tone.

“You talked to those,” Stiles said. “Are they your pets? Do you train pet wolves? Those wolves are bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know wolves could get that big-”

“They are most certainly not my pets,” Deaton said. He skimmed the torchlight over Stiles’ body, looking for injury. Now that he wasn’t actively being hunted, Stiles felt the pain of being thrown to the ground. His back hurt something fierce, and his palms were scraped raw. Deaton drew his wand and murmured a few healing spells over Stiles’ palms, and the back of his arm. “I would have preferred you to stay out of this, but it appears what happens to Mr McCall affects you just as much.”

“Scott’s my brother,” Stiles said. “I don’t care what happens. I want to be there for him.”

“That is admirable, Stiles, but you must realise that a werewolf’s bloodlust will not sate itself. They are driven to destroy humans. It’s in their nature.”

Stiles clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, his eyes fixed on the Hale House. He could still see his torch smouldering, casting horrifying shadows along the ruined walls.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to go home?” Deaton asked. Stiles shook his head. “All right. You can stand vigil with me, then. We’ll keep watch until the moon retreats. When it is safe to go inside the circle, we’ll get Scott. Does that sound reasonable?”

“What about those other wolves?” Stiles asked.

“Don’t worry about those wolves. They won’t hurt you.”

“But they-” Stiles paused. They ran him out of the house. They ran him outside the magical barrier, directly to Deaton, where he was safe. “Oh.”

Deaton smiled and turned his attention to the house. Stiles found himself silent for the rest of the night, and he wasn’t sure if it was from Deaton’s calming presence or his near death experience.

At some point during the night, Stiles had sat down and tucked his knees to his chest. He settled his head in them, and only meant to close his eyes for a moment. When Deaton shook him awake, dawn was creeping over the horizon.

Stiles leapt to his feet, stayed only by Deaton’s vice grip on his arm. “Ow-”

“What you find in there, you must never speak of to anyone,” Deaton said. Now his voice had inflection. Urgency. Stiles stared at him. “Do you understand? There are many people who want to harm werewolves. Even at our school. Stiles?”

“Okay. I understand. I won’t tell anyone,” Stiles said. Deaton narrowed his eyes but released his hold, and Stiles jogged towards the ruins. Deaton followed at a slower pace, a bundle of clothing and blankets in his arms.

“Scott?” Stiles hopped up the front steps to the house and slowed as he passed through the busted doorway. “Scott?”

“Stiles?” Scott staggered around a wall, naked and shivering. Stiles crossed the distance in a three quick strides and gathered Scott against him. Scott let out a choked sob and clutched back, digging his fingers into Stiles’ hoodie. “I can’t remember anything- Did I-?”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t think about it.” Stiles closed his eyes. “Just don’t think about it.”

Deaton approached them and handed Stiles a blanket. Stiles took it and draped it over Scott’s shoulders before bundling him close again. Scott’s forehead dropped onto Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles physically could not let him go.

And then Stiles saw what Deaton had made him swear to keep secret. Stiles watched Derek and Laura Hale stumble out of an adjacent room, also wrapped in blankets, and blinking in the harsh sunlight. Deaton stepped out behind them, catching Stiles’ eye with purpose. Derek’s eyes flicked to Stiles and he froze.

“Alan-” Laura started.

Deaton held his hand up. “It’s okay. He’ll keep your secret. You witnessed first hand how far he will go for his friend. He promised to extend the same care for you and your secret.”

Laura shifted her gaze between them, and finally settled on Stiles. She walked to him, trailing the blanket in the ash and dirt on the floor. Her feet were bare and scraped. She held out her hand to Stiles. “I’m Laura Hale.”

Stiles stared at it, and awkwardly reached around Scott to clasp her hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek snorted behind her, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Is that funny?”

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, almost clearing his hairline, and Stiles sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll give you that one. But it’s a nickname, dude. You don’t even want to imagine what my real name is. It’s a nightmare, trust me.”

“Does it grow fur and chase live prey on the full moons?” Laura asked. She grinned, and the smile lit up her face, despite her mess of tangled hair and dirt smudges across her cheeks.

“No, you got me there,” Stiles admitted. Laura laughed, and Stiles didn’t miss the little smirk that lifted the corner of Derek’s lips. Scott snuffled against his shoulder, and Stiles felt himself relax for the first time since Scott was bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr@merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	5. Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lock your window,” Derek said, and that husky quality must be inherent because he wasn’t lying semi-conscious in a hospital bed.
> 
> “Seriously- Five stories and all you have to say is ‘lock your window’?” Stiles gaped at him. Derek’s face pinched like he had bit a lemon.

Deaton escorted them back to the school, where he promptly stuck all three werewolves into medical under Ms McCall’s care. He sent Stiles home to get a nap before classes started for the day. Stiles protested until he walked into the door on his way out because he just didn’t see it. He may have been over tired. It was a possibility.

He fell onto his bed, fully clothed and covered in dirt, and passed right out.

He woke to Lydia poking him with a pen.

He jerked, flailing, and fell off the bed. She jumped out of the way of his limbs, and waited patiently as he pulled himself upright against his bed. Stiles groaned and scrubbed his face. “What? Holy god, Lydia.”

“First, you missed your morning classes. Second, I wanted to know how it went last night. Third, you reek. You smell like wet dog. Go take a shower. Go on.” She handed him a change of clothes and helped him to his feet. “If you fall asleep in the shower, I’m coming in there for you.”

Stiles managed not to fall asleep under the deliciously warm spray of water, but it was a close thing. He staggered back to his room, a towel precariously around his waist, to find his dirty clothes were in his hamper, and Lydia was perched at his desk. He scrubbed a towel over his head. “How did you even get in here?”

“I know people,” she said. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “So, how did it go?”

“It didn’t work. He tried to rip my throat out,” Stiles said. He tugged a shirt on and scrambled into pants, too tired to care that Lydia fucking Martin was sitting right behind him, staring at his pale, scrawny ass. “But we didn’t poison him, so we have to be on the right track.”

“You seem to be in remarkable health for the fact a werewolf tried to tear your throat out,” Lydia said. It wasn't an observation.

Stiles spun on her. “No. Lydia, I promised. I can’t tell.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll figure it out myself. Who else consistently misses classes and activities only around the week of the full moon. Hmm… Oh, I know. The Hales.”

Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. Lydia leaned back against his desk. “Oh come on, Stiles. The symptoms are all there. I’ve known for years. You just confirmed it. Don’t feel bad, you didn’t break your promise. Which begs the question. Why the sudden increase in Argents at the school?”

Stiles sank onto his bed and stared past her, trying to figure out what she was getting at. He focused his gaze on her. “You don’t think…”

“Have you noticed that a lot of ‘accidents’ tend to happen around the Hale boy?” Lydia asked. She picked at one of the textbooks on his desk as she talked. “The suspicious traces of mountain ash at the scene of the fire? And suddenly both the Hales and Argents are back in town? Beacon is too small for both of them. Something’s going on. And I really don’t like the way Kate teaches.”

Stiles frowned. “W-What’s that got to do with anything…”

“She isn’t qualified,” Lydia insisted. She stood, the ruffles in her skirt flaring. “Are you coming to afternoon classes? We have Potions.”

“Yeah. I just need. Caffeine. Or a new brain. Something.” Stiles groaned and flopped over on his bed. Lydia clicked her tongue and prodded him again with the pen. “I’ll be there. I will. Go on.”

Lydia opened the door and left it hanging open as she strode down the hall, her heels clicking as she walked. Stiles heard murmurs of disbelief in her wake. Was that Lydia Martin? Coming out of Stiles’ room?

Stiles ignored the chatter and slammed his door shut with his foot. He processed what Lydia had hinted at. The fire had been ruled an accident due to insubstantial evidence. The flames had destroyed too much of the scene to determine if the family had been trapped there deliberately, or if it was just horrible timing. Stiles would have to call his father.

Rolling off the bed took more effort than it should have. He dragged his bookbag over his shoulder and stepped into the hall. He kept his head down and did not meet anyone’s eyes as he made his way out of his Hall.

The campus continued to move around him, as if nothing unusual had happened last night. It was surreal, going to class and sitting at a desk when his best friend had tried to rip his head off just hours ago. Stiles sank into his chair in Defense, this time with the rest of his Hall, and absently took notes during the lecture. Kate Argent looked no different. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled, her suit was impeccable, and she moved with the same fluid grace she always did in class. She didn’t look like the mass murdering type.

His father said they never did.

Stiles managed to not fall asleep during Defense, and made it to Potions without incident. And then, to the shock of every single person in the class, including Harris and Stiles himself, Lydia took her seat beside him. Harris actually looked up from his texts to stare at them. Stiles sank into his chair and hid his face in one hand.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“You’re the one who wanted to be friends with me,” Lydia said. She seemed unperturbed by the attention they were getting.

Stiles sighed and flipped open his book. He tapped his pen against the paper, and turned to her. “Do you know anything about people that turn into wolves?”

Lydia stared at him as if he had just grown a second head. “A werewolf?”

Stiles groaned. “No. Werewolves don’t actually become wolves. They’re like, bipedal wolves. Longer limbs and shorter snout. But what about humans who become literal wolves. Shapeshifters? Does those exist?”

“Animagi?”

Stiles jumped. Kira sat in front of them, next to Danny Mehealani. They were both turned to watch Lydia and Stiles talk. Kira glanced between them. “Animagi. Wizards that can transform into animals. It’s a complete Transfiguration without the need of a spell or charm.”

“So theoretically,” Stiles said, ignoring Lydia’s exasperated sigh. “Two wizards could become wolves. Whenever they wanted. If they were Animagi.”

“Sort of,” Kira said. “I don’t think you can choose your form with that magic. It chooses based on your character. You don’t really have control over it. I guess two wizards could have the same inner form.”

“It’s possible,” Danny said. And holy shit. Suddenly everyone was talking to Stiles. He could get used to this. “There aren’t many Animagi in the world, though. The Transfiguration is really complicated. Morgan la Fey was one of the first known Animagi. She turned into some sort of bird. A raven, or eagle. Texts vary on her actual form.”

“You have to register when you become one, though,” Kira said. “You could check the registry for any wolf Animagi in the area. I’m sure they’d show up on it.”

“I really doubt it, but I’ll look. Thanks, guys. Um. Nice chat. We should do it again some time.” Stiles grinned weakly. Lydia rolled her eyes, but Danny gave him a small grin before turning to focus on Harris’ incredibly boring lecture on the benefits of soaking mint rather than crushing it.

 

 

 

Stiles went right for the library after Potions. He leaned against the counter and waited for Finstock to notice him.

“What do you need now, Stilinski?” Finstock asked from his perch on a ladder over the desk.

“I’m looking for books on Animagus,” Stiles said. He tilted his head back to watch Finstock shelve some more books.

“Why?”

“W-What? Why?” Stiles spluttered. “Because I want to know? I’m a student. I want to know things. That’s why I’m here, learning. So that I can know. Can you just point me in the direction of the books? Please?”

“That is a very complicated Transfiguration process,” Finstock said. “Are you sure you’re authorised to access such material?”

Stiles closed his eyes and counted to twenty. Twenty wasn’t quite high enough, but he opened his eyes anyway and said, “It’s just research for a paper.”

Kira pressed herself against the counter at Stiles’ shoulder and grinned up at Finstock. “Hey, Coach, can you help me find books on Animagi?”

“Sure. Down the first stack, on your left. The call numbers are around 150,” Finstock answered.

Stiles gaped at him, and Kira looped a hand through his elbow, dragging him away from the counter. She pulled him all the way to the shelves and only released him when they were standing in front of the books that held the information they needed.

“Thanks,” Stiles said. Kira hummed and started pulling books down. Stiles joined her, and they each curled up against the shelf with a book in their lap. Kira cocked her head at him.

“He doesn’t like you very much.”

“Nobody likes me very much,” Stiles said. He leaned against the shelf. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m hyperactive without a brain-mouth filter and I’m magic.”

“Lots of people like you,” Kira said. She smiled.

Stiles grunted and set his attention on the book in his lap. He and Kira had gotten through a few texts when Lydia came clacking around the corner in her heels. “Oh, here you are.”

She dropped to her knees beside them and pinned Stiles in place with her eyes. “Born werewolves take the form of a full blooded wolf under the full moon, and retain their sanity.”

“How can you be a born werewolf? It’s not passed genetically,” Kira said.

“If two werewolves breed during the night of a full moon, their child will have the ability to turn into a full wolf on the full moon,” Lydia said. “And retain all of their sanity. They can’t control the shift, but they aren’t going to murder anyone in a fit of rage.”

“That’s hard core. And awesome.” Kira breathed. “Is that what the wolfsbane potion was for?”

Lydia and Stiles stiffened. Stiles glared at Lydia, who shook her head fractionally with wide eyes. Kira looked back and forth between them, confused. “Because there’s a werewolf on campus, right?”

Stiles rapped his head against the shelf behind him and groaned. This is what he got for accepting help from freaking smart people. Scott never would have figured it out on his own. Hell, he was the werewolf and he still hadn’t figured everything out.

Lydia cupped the back of his head and frowned at him. “Stop that. That helps nobody.”

How had he gone from Lydia refusing to breathe in his direction to her cradling the back of his skull? His life. He just groaned and acquiesced.

“Research. It is purely research,” Stiles said. Kira scowled at him.

“My mom is nine hundred years old. I can handle a werewolf. One way to kill a werewolf is to severe the spinal cord with a blade tempered in silver, right? Guess who has a katana.” Kira pointed helpfully to herself.

“Look, there is no werewolf. I’m sorry, Kira,” Stiles said. “I can’t just go up to someone and ask, ‘Yo, were you conceived under a full moon by wolfy parents’? Awkward. It’s not polite to ask someone about their lycanthropy status.”

“But you were researching wolfsbane. You don’t have to tell me who it is, I’m not going to go after them unless they go after me first,” Kira said. Her eyes unfocused as she tracked back a few days to when she had helped Stiles in the library. “Wait. Wait. Why would you be researching wolfsbane if the werewolf was sentient on the full moon?”

Stiles and Lydia held their breath. Damn smart people-

“Oh my god, are there more than one!?” Kira’s eyes went wide.

Stiles just slumped onto the floor, moaning. “I am never working with Martin Hall again. Ever. I hate everything.”

Lydia patted his leg and smiled tightly at him. “Stiles, I’ll take care of this. Go home, get some rest. We have some time.”

Stiles didn’t bother arguing. He gathered up the books- a few on Animagi, and a few on wolfsbane potion- and stuffed them into his bag. He trudged back to his dorm and collapsed on his bed. He was pretty certain he had homework to do, but his brain was too wired to concentrate, and his body was too tired to move.

His window clicked open, and Stiles turned to see Derek fucking Hale slide into his room.

 

 

 

He leapt to his feet. “Holy shit!”

Derek said nothing, glaring at him, as Stiles jumped to the window and stuck his head out. He couldn’t get his mouth around the words. “How did you- That is a sheer drop- Five stories- What-!?”

“Lock your window,” Derek said, and that husky quality must be inherent because he wasn’t lying semi-conscious in a hospital bed.

“Seriously- Five stories and all you have to say is ‘lock your window’?” Stiles gaped at him. Derek’s face pinched like he had bit a lemon.

“Stay inside on the full moon,” he ground out. “Deaton can’t protect you from what’s out there.”

Stiles shut the window and moved away from it. He stepped between Derek and the door to his room. “I appreciate your concern, but we have it handled.”

Stiles’ breath rushed out of him when Derek slammed him against his door. He winced, his head cracking with generous force against wood, and found his vision full of Derek. Derek’s fist twisted in the front of his shirt. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

“Look, I needed some help with Scott, your furry little problem is safe with me.” Stiles held up his hands, trying to appear harmless. It did nothing to deter the pressure of Derek’s fist against his sternum.

“Get rid of them,” Derek said. Through gritted teeth. Like a legit wolf. Stiles felt anger heat his chest.

“Um, no? I still need their help. You might not go crazy because you’re a super special born beautiful wolf, but Scott could still rip my head off.”

“Then stay. In.” Derek punctuated his words with a shove.

“No,” Stiles said, his voice just as level and dangerous. He met Derek’s eyes and held his gaze, refusing to cave. This was Scott he was talking about. Scott, who was his brother. Who had always been there for him. Through his mother’s death. Through awkward hours on the playground, rejected by the other kids because he couldn’t focus enough to play along. Through his father’s long hours working with the Bureau. Just like Stiles had been there through the divorce. And he was going to be there through this. There was nothing they couldn’t do together.

Derek eased back, his fingers loosening in Stiles’ shirt, and he cocked his head. It was such a dog thing to do Stiles couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his face. “Good boy.”

Derek tossed him onto his bed and disappeared out the window before Stiles could right himself. Stiles scrambled at the window lock and managed to secure it. He pressed his face to the glass and peered out at the grounds. Derek was nowhere in sight. He’d vanished.

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. Now that he was sufficiently awake, he might as well finish his homework. No use in failing out of school. He would lose access to wolfsbane potion ingredients. And Lydia might kill him.

 

 

 

The next morning, Lydia caught up with Stiles out of his first class and looped her arm through this elbow as they walked. On his other side, Scott gawked openly, the jerk, and Stiles tried very hard not to stumble over his own feet with Lydia on his arm.

“So Kira wants to help,” Lydia said. “She won’t be telling anyone, but she’s smart, and I think she’d be a good addition to our study group. Also, her kitsune charm is very interesting and she promised she would tell me more about it.”

“Lydia, if the whole school knows a secret it’s not a secret anymore,” Stiles said.

“She can help, and she has a very large sword,” Lydia said. “She already pointed out something we missed in the first brew. I have a good feeling about this second batch.”

Scott grimaced. “You want to make more of that stuff?”

“Bad puppy,” Stiles said. He slapped Scott’s arm. “You’ll take your medicine and you’ll like it.”

They all ducked when something exploded in the hall, a soft pop that belched smoke and sparks somewhere down the hall. Stiles pulled Lydia to the side of the hall as they let a few teachers move towards the commotion. Stiles caught sight of a familiar head of unruly black hair.

Derek Hale stared at them through the bustle of students changing classes for second period. Stiles was about to call over to him when Derek’s focus shifted, and he quickly started moving down the hall, away from Stiles and Scott. Stiles followed his line of vision and didn’t see anyone but Ms Argent and Mr Yukimura helping the student who had accidentally made his pen explode.

“Stalker?” Lydia asked.

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“Derek Hale. Is he stalking you?” Lydia asked. Stiles wasn’t really sure how to answer that. She didn’t know about his after hours visit, and it was probably better it stayed that way. He didn’t want Derek anywhere near Lydia.

“No. Just… a jerk,” Stiles said. Scott snorted beside him. “Scott, go to class, for god’s sake.”

“Going, I’m going.” Scott trotted off in the direction of his class.

Lydia tugged Stiles into their Potions classroom, and sat him down in a chair beside hers. She set her books down and sat. “Kira’s going to sit with us.”

Kira bustled into the classroom with seconds to spare, much to Harris’ displeasure, and squeezed into the chair between Stiles and Lydia. She plopped a clipped bundle of papers in front of him with a grin. “I went through and traced the lineages of known werewolves, and came up with a list of possible born werewolves in the world. There isn’t much information pre-dating the wolfsbane potion invention, because nobody really talked about lycanthropy, but I was able to trace a strain all the way back to medieval Europe!”

Stiles stared at her. “Did you sleep at all?”

Kira paused, mid-sentence, and shook her head, her curls bouncing. “No, but this was much more interesting.”

On Kira’s other side, Lydia grinned wolfishly, and Stiles deflated. Apparently Kira was joining their study group.

 

 

 

The silence in the girls’ bathroom that afternoon was distressing. Allison shifted uneasily beside Scott, mostly because Lydia was so focused on their class schedule that she wasn’t talking. Kira perched on her ankles, leaning over the equipment, excited. She started going through Stiles’ notes like Lydia had that first day. Stiles was trying to wash down their cauldron and tools, and Scott was being completely unhelpful again by making moon eyes at Allison.

“Why doesn’t anyone use this bathroom?” Allison asked, shattering the silence.

“It’s haunted,” Lydia said. She flicked through another page and made a notation.

“I haven’t seen a ghost the whole time we’ve been here,” Scott said.

“That’s because even as a ghost, wolfsbane is awful.” A voice issued from one of the stalls and the hair on Stiles’ arms stood straight up.

Everyone scrambled to their feet and faced the row of stalls. A young girl materialised through the door of one of the middle stalls. She grimaced and waved at the potions set up. “The smell was enough to keep me away. But I haunt this bathroom. So you’re welcome, for, you know, keeping everyone away.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. She looked strangely familiar. “Who are you?”

“Cora,” the ghost said. She folded her arms over her chest. “You guys kind of suck at this potion thing, you know that, right?”

“Wow. Tough talk for a ghost,” Stiles said. “I don’t see you helping.”

“I can’t,” she said. She waved her translucent arms. “Ghost. Can’t hold anything. Points for snark, though, I knew I liked you.”

Now that Stiles’ heart had slowed to a reasonable pace, he slumped to the floor again. “Well, go haunt somewhere then, because we’re about to start again.”

“You’re new. I haven’t heard you before.” Cora floated in front of Kira. She nodded at Kira’s silver owl pin. “Martin Hall?”

“Yeah. Sophomore,” Kira said.

“Talk about school unity. We have everyone represented here,” Cora said. She floated closer to the ceiling. “Well don’t let me get in your way. The smell won’t get too bad if you’re just starting.”

“You’re just gonna stare at us the whole time?” Stiles asked. He craned his neck to watch her float back and forth between the floating candles.

“That was the plan,” Cora said. “You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in a while.”

“Really sucks to be you,” Stiles said. Kira shot him a harsh look.

“Stiles.” She hissed between her teeth. “She is dead. Cut her some slack.”

Stiles leaned closer to Kira. “She is dead and pissing me off. And she is doing it on purpose.”

Cora dropped into the floor and hunched her shoulders towards them. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “I kinda am.”

Stiles jerked his thumb at her and raised his eyebrows at Kira. Kira sighed and returned to her notes, shaking her head. Lydia tossed a paper at him. He grasped it and found it was a schedule of all their classes with time slots blocked out during study halls.

“These will be your shifts. Kira and I are going to write up instructions for each shift, and when you come down to watch the potion just follow the instructions,” Lydia said. She tapped a notebook with a pen. “This is our journal. It’s not science until you write it down. Take notes on everything that happens, even if it’s just sneezing towards it.”

“Gross,” Scott said. Lydia rolled her eyes. She slapped him with the notebook.

“Write everything down. That way if this batch fails we can see where we went wrong. But we aren’t going to fail because everyone can follow directions, isn’t that right Stiles?” Lydia pinned him with a fierce look.

“Yes. Directions are great. I love them. A lot,” Stiles said. He helped Kira spread the wolfsbane books around on the floor. He picked out ones they had used the first time. “I’ll go over these and see if we missed anything.”

Lydia shook her head. “Let Kira. She has fresh eyes. She’d find it faster. You get over here and start measuring out the silver powder.”

Cora vanished halfway through their initial session in the girls room. Stiles didn’t see her leave, but he did notice she was gone. He glanced up from the potion at one point, expecting to hear sass about the way he held his stirring ladle. Nothing.

It was dark when they finished the initial stages of the brewing process. Lydia and Kira walked back to their hall together, and Scott walked Allison back. Stiles was left in the dark, trudging through a quiet campus towards his hall.

He got that sensation he was being watched. His skin prickled, and he surreptitiously glanced around him. The lightposts provided decent light on the campus walkways, but it was still night out, and the bushes held shadowy havens of Bad within them. And it was almost too quiet.

Stiles thought he saw a flash in one of the bushes to his right. He didn’t wait to find out what it was. He bolted, running for his hall.

He made it two steps before he was tackled from behind. He went down hard, elbows and palms scraping the pavement. He tucked well enough to avoid smashing his face, and someone was on top of him.

Stiles wrestled, trying to throw the person off, but hands closed around his throat and squeezed.

He choked, clawing at the ground. The person had him wedged down, pressed against cold concrete. He scratched at the hands throttling him, trying to pry himself free. He couldn’t breathe-

There was a loud bang over him, and suddenly the pressure on his windpipe was gone. Stiles gasped, sucking in a massive gulp of air and coughing it back out. He rolled onto his side, kicking, and someone leaned over him.

“Calm down, Stiles. Lie still. I got him.”

Isaac Lahey hovered over him, one hand on Stiles’ shoulder, the other gripped a huge branch, shattered on one end. Stiles gulped air, trying to get his breathing under control. Isaac helped him sit up.

“Careful. I laid a barrier. Watch your shoes.” Isaac waved at the circle of mountain ash around them. Isaac had always been good at barriers. He could throw one up at a moment’s notice. He always carried mountain ash with him.

Stiles dragged his knees to his chest, and concentrated on breathing. Isaac’s hand was warm and huge on his shoulder, and his body a solid presence beside him. “Who-”

“I didn’t get a look at his face,” Isaac said. “I just saw the two of you and reacted. Um.”

He held the broken branch up and grimaced. “I was trying to stun him. I think I exploded him instead. Not all the way, though. He took off. But I’m pretty sure I took a chunk out of his arm.”

“That is so gross,” Stiles said. His voice was hoarse. Isaac peered into the darkness around them.

“Can you move? We can make a run for the Hall. It’s right there.” Isaac nodded at Rickonson Hall, where dorm lights glowed. Sanctuary. Stiles nodded, and swallowed hard. Isaac took Stiles’ bag and tossed it outside the circle. “Leave it. We’ll Summon it when we’re safe.”

Stiles didn’t want to know how Isaac knew all this, but was too delirious with panic to care. Isaac glanced behind them, and then nudged Stiles out of the circle. “Go.”

Stiles bolted, and Isaac pounded after him.

They slammed into the door of their Hall, and Isaac hissed out the password. The door opened, and they fell into the front hall, startling a pair of sixth graders who were coming down the stairs. Isaac slammed the door shut and hauled Stiles towards Mr Yukimura’s office.

Stiles twisted free and threw himself away from Isaac. “Wait, wait. I can’t.”

“Stiles,” Isaac said, exasperated. “Someone just assaulted you!”

“My dad will pull me me out of school,” Stiles said. His breathing was going off again. “I can’t go home. You don’t-”

Isaac narrowed his eyes and set his jaw in a firm, hard line. “No, no. It’s okay. I understand.”

Just like that.

Stiles blinked, expecting resistance. “What. Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Isaac smiled shyly. “Let’s go get your bag. Um. If you don’t feel safe, I can sit with you.”

Something in Stiles settled, something he hadn’t known was tense. He stared at Isaac in awe, floored by the offer. He barely knew Isaac aside from the kid’s puppy-love for Scott. He sucked in a huge breath just because he could, and said, “That would actually be kind of amazing.”

“It’s okay,” Isaac said. He kept his voice low as students passed them in the halls, moving to and from the recreation room. “You’re safe here.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said. “Seriously. Thank you.”

Isaac coloured, and he stepped back to give Stiles room to lead the way up the stairs. Stiles trudged upwards, and let them both into his dorm room. Isaac hung awkwardly in the doorway while Stiles hastened to snatch up piles of dirty laundry and comics. “Sorry. I don’t usually have company.”

“It’s actually neater than mine,” Isaac said. He walked to the window. “Oh perfect. You have line of sight with it.”

Stiles shoved his comics under his bed and joined Isaac at the window. His bag lay outside the small circle of mountain ash. “How do you get such a perfect circle? Mine are always like. Squiggly ovals.”

“Practice,” Isaac said. He smirked and hefted the window open. He perched on the ledge and waited.

Stiles understood that seeing the object made it infinitely easier to Summon, but that had never helped him. He stood at the window and focused his concentration on the bag. The feel of the strap in his hand, its heft when it bulged with books. He stared at it, and imagined it in his hands. Right now.

“ _Accio_.”

The bag jerked on the ground, sliding a few inches. It lurched into the air, quivering, and shot towards them. Stiles yelped as it flew through the window and slammed into his chest. He fell onto his ass and gripped the bag tight to him. The corners of the books inside dug into his arms. “Yeah! Did you see that? That was like, fifty feet, at least!”

“Five stories,” Isaac said. He couldn’t help but grin as he straightened and shut the window. He threw the lock, because he was a conscientious boy like that, and Stiles dumped his bag under his desk.

Stiles turned and almost smacked into Isaac, the boy was so close they were breathing the same air. Stiles froze, and Isaac carefully pulled Stiles’ hoodie collar away from the skin of his throat. “Those are going to bruise.”

Stiles glanced in the mirror and saw red fingerprints spread across the hard line of his throat. He swallowed and shrugged. “Whatever. Listen, I’m tired. I think I’m going to sleep.”

Isaac nodded, his curls bobbing. “Do you want me to stay? To keep watch?”

“Oh.” Stiles gaped. “You meant. What, all night?”

Isaac shrugged and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “My brother used to keep watch for me. When- Um. When I needed it. It always made me feel better.”

Stiles sank onto his mattress. He knew he wouldn’t sleep if he were left alone. His brain would just go over the attack in an endless cycle of panic and paranoia until the sun rose. Something must have shown on his face, because Isaac nodded and sat on the floor at the foot of Stiles’ bed. He stretched his legs out across the doorway. Anyone entering through the door would literally have to get through him.

Stiles slept peacefully that night.

 

 

 

“I don’t fucking know, okay.” Stiles hung his head between his knees.

Scott sat next to him and tried ineffectually to tug his turtleneck up over the bruises on his throat. “You really need to tell someone what happened.”

“I can’t. My dad will pull me out of school so fast you won’t know what hit you,” Stiles said. “With the… furry things, and Principal Argent being creeptastic, and now this? It’s just too much. He’d pull me out.”

“Have you talked to Derek yet?” Scott tried another approach.

“When? We were both preparing for this match. This match that I am once again sitting out. Because even in the wizarding world I can’t compete in the sports.” Stiles sighed and leaned back on the bench.

Mr Yukimura walked past. He liked sitting with the team during matches, and he lifted an eyebrow at Scott. Scott waved cheerfully at him, unperturbed. Mr Yukimura shook his head and continued on his way.

“One of these days someone is actually going to make you sit with your own Hall,” Stiles said. “And that will be the day we cry like the manly men we are.”

“Today is not that day,” Scott said. He had returned his attention to the match, watching the players fly overhead, ducking and weaving.

“Do you see it yet?” Stiles asked. Scott might be an adorably oblivious puppy, but he was a good Seeker.

“Not yet. It’s harder on the ground. But.” Scott paused. He lifted a hand to his eyes and shaded them from the sun. “Does Derek look strange to you?”

“You need to work on your phrasing.” Stiles peered at the Sierra Hall captain. He did look a little more constipated than usual, and he kept jerking his broom around like he couldn’t sit still on it. “He’s using my patented moves. That jerk.”

“No.” Scott stood, his shoulders settling back into something Stiles was coming to realise as his Responsible Stance. “It looks like there’s something wrong with his broom.”

Stiles got to his feet and shaded his eyes. Now that Scott had said it, it did look like Derek was having a hard time staying seated. Which was, quite frankly, ridiculous, because who wouldn’t want to be attached to that ass-

Derek took off, straight upwards, away from the goals he was supposed to be tending. Stiles gaped, trying to follow his motion. “It looks like he’s heading for the Preserve!”

Stiles reached into his team’s broom closet and snatched one up. Scott stretched for him. “No, Stiles! Wait!”

Stiles kicked off the ground and felt the familiar rush of air against his skin as he tore after Derek. He ignored Scott yelling his name. He might not be a Seeker, but he could keep track of someone weaving in open sky.

Derek’s broom dipped and completely left the Quidditch arena, speeding towards the Preserve at a truly dangerous pace. Stiles watched Derek break the treeline seconds before he himself followed.

Open sky was one thing, following someone in the thick of a forest was something completely different. Stiles struggled to keep up, weaving in and out of trees and veering desperately to avoid being impaled on several hundred branches. Stiles didn’t have time to think about his flying. He ran purely on instinct, avoiding tree trunks by inches as he peeled around trees chasing Derek. He was amazing Derek hadn’t been thrown yet, but he seemed to maintain a modicrum of control over the broom even as it carried him further and further away from the school.

Then the tree line broke open and Derek’s broom shot over the lake. Holy shit. They were at the lake. That was like, at least two hundred yards north of campus. They had to be pushing the outer school boundary.

Derek’s broom jerked under him, coming up against his chest so hard that Stiles heard the crack, not three seconds behind him, and Derek finally lost his grip. He plummeted, crashing into the lake at a speed that probably broke something. Stiles slowed just enough to prevent his ankles from being shattered by the fall and leapt into the water, feet first.

Frigid water closed over his head and squeezed his chest like a vice and he flailed. His hand smacked against Quidditch robes and he grabbed as tightly as he could, and yanked Derek upwards. He burst through the surface, coughing and gasping. Derek was a dead weight in his arm.

Stiles pushed hard against the water threatening to drag him down. His robes were really not helping. They soaked in the water, forcing him to push harder to keep them both afloat. Stiles rolled his shoulder, tipping Derek’s head back to keep his face clear. He secured his arm around Derek’s chest and started pulling through water towards shore.

Which was forever away.

Derek sputtered awake a few minutes into their swim, and Stiles fought to keep them both above the surface when he started struggling. “Whoa, calm down, dude. I’ve got you.”

“Wh-happ’nd?” Derek’s words slurred. Definitely most probably a concussion.

“You fell off,” Stiles said. “Impressive grip, by the way, I would have lost it back at the pitch.”

“Stiles?” He sounded confused.

“Yeah, hey. Just relax. I’ve got you,” Stiles said. He spit water out of his mouth as he kept swimming, slowly but surely dragging the shoreline closer to them.

“My side…” Derek twisted, almost dislodging Stiles’ grip, and Stiles yelped. They floated closer, and Stiles felt a current of hot water contact his arm. He pushed Derek’s arms down and ran a hand along Derek’s side. There was a huge gash in his side, bleeding sluggishly into the water.

“Shit.” Stiles hissed between his teeth. “Just- Stay still. Don’t move, you’re going to make it worse. And I think you have a few cracked ribs, too. And a concussion. Just stay still.”

“Let go.” Derek panted, his head heavy on Stiles’ shoulder.

“No way.” Stiles started pulling through the water again, trying to quicken his pace. It just wasn’t happening though. Derek was one hundred eighty pounds of pure muscle in heavy Quidditch robes. He was going down and trying to take Stiles with him.

“We’re not gonna make it- Just let go-”

“And let you drown faster? Not a chance. Scott’s coming, just stay still.” Stiles grunted, begging his arms to keep moving even though they felt like jelly. He wasted precious seconds kicking off his boots, and he did feel fractionally lighter. But it wasn’t nearly enough.

“What is wrong with you? You’re so stupid-”

“I don’t want you to die, okay,” Stiles bit out. He hoisted Derek higher, keeping his chin up. “Call me stupid again, see where that gets you.”

“Keep this up and you’ll die too,” Derek pointed out. He coughed, breathing around water splashing in his face.

“Great pep talk, really looking forward to the next one. Seriously stop moving. I can feel you bleeding out.” Stiles could barely get the words out around his gasps for air. He wasn’t going to make it to shore. Even if he dropped Derek- which he wouldn’t- he wasn’t going to make it. He was too tired. And no sign of Scott.

He could see the shoreline. He could see it and he wanted it so badly he could taste it over the stark tang of lake water on his lips. When his arms finally failed him it was a surprise. He shoved Derek hard towards the surface, desperate, and choked on water flooding his mouth.

His throat burned as water lodged in it, but before he could suck in a gulp of water, he was flying through the air.

He landed hard on packed, rocky sand on the lake bed. The impact forced water out of his airways and he gagged, rolling onto his side to spit up water. Someone’s hands were on his shoulders, helping him, and cradling his head as he coughed.

“Oh my god, Stiles!” Allison’s voice rang out over him.

Stiles flailed against her hands. “Derek-”

“It’s fine, I got him. You’re safe. Oh my god. I saw you go over the Hall and into the Preserve- What the hell happened?”

She tried to hold him still, but he pressed against her grip. “No, he’s hurt- He needs medical attention-”

“Stiles!”

Scott burst through the trees with his mom and Mr Argent in tow. Ms McCall started for him, but Stiles shook his head and pointed to Derek, lying deathly still on the embankment. Ms McCall focused her attention on him, and Mr Argent crouched beside Stiles and Allison.

“Well done, Allison,” he said. He clasped her shoulder and she smiled shakily.

“I just- saw- and I knew something was wrong. Stiles never flies like that.”

“Rude,” Stiles said around a cough. Allison laughed. She and her father helped Stiles sit up, and Mr Argent helped peel off the destroyed Quidditch robes. Stiles cringed when he saw blood on them. Mr Argent opened his mouth, but Stiles got there first. “It’s not mine. I’m fine. Surprisingly.”

“You did good, Stiles.” Mr Argent rested his hand on Stiles’s soaked shoulder. “Your father would be proud.”

Stiles quirked a smile, and shivered violently as a breeze whistled by. Scott tossed his own, dry, robes over Stiles’ shoulders and gripped him close. Stiles sagged into his embrace. “I want to sleep forever. I don’t think I can walk back.”

“It’s cool, bro. You don’t have to ask me for a piggyback.” Scott turned and crouched, and Stiles gratefully slumped onto his back. Scott hefted him up like he was nothing, and Stiles let himself pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @merfolkish and on lj @tresa_cho


	6. Study Group

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a body.” His eyes were wide in his pale face.
> 
> Stiles went cold. “Are you sure?”
> 
> “Yeah. It’s Miranda Lekhardt. Junior from Martin Hall. I recognise the bag,” Isaac said. “She’s covered in blood. How do you not see that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we have mention of Kate's manipulation and abuse of Derek at a young age. Nothing is explicitly mentioned, just Derek's reaction and Stiles reacting to that reaction. Proceed with caution if you are easily triggered.

He woke to the soft tones of Lydia and Scott talking by his side. He rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. Scott grinned at him, and Stiles smiled weakly back. “Yo.”

“Dude, that was awesome,” Scott said, unable to contain his glee. “The whole school is talking about it.”

Lydia deliberately leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “That was moronic. There was a hex on the broom and if you do something like that again I will turn your balls into sugar peas.”

“Whoa. Points for creativity,” Stiles said. He winced. “Really? Sugar peas?”

Lydia’s eyes went wide and her lips thinned. “Yes. Sugar peas. Tiny and easily crushed.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t save anyone’s life ever again. Jeez.” Stiles slumped against the pillows. He was in medical. The white walls were becoming too familiar. “How’s Derek?”

“He had a punctured lung, thanks to his trip through the forest,” Lydia said. “But Ms McCall patched him up. He’s going to be okay. You did save his life, Stiles. He never would have made it out of that lake if you hadn’t been there.”

“Tell me about the hex,” Stiles said. He pushed himself up in the bed.

“The teachers caught the broom. Someone had put a convulsion hex on it. The hex twisted in the broom’s inherent magic, which made it take off. I think the original intent was just to throw Derek during the match,” Lydia said. She twirled a lock of red hair between her fingers. “They could have killed him.”

“Can we figure out who cast it?” Stiles asked. “This is… another one of those ‘accidents’.”

“We could, but we’d have to have evidence of deliberate attempted murder. The administration isn’t going to investigate a random hex. Anyone could have done it,” Lydia said. “A Rickonson player, someone who just doesn’t like Derek… That broom went through so many hands that morning it would be extremely hard to trace back the origin of the hex.”

“I think someone is really trying to hurt him, Lydia,” Stiles said. “What do we do?”

“We should tell one of the teachers,” Scott said. He leaned forward in his chair. Lydia shook her head.

“Scott, we think one of the teachers is doing the hurting.”

Scott’s eyes went wide. “What? No. How? But they’re teachers.”

“Teachers are human, just like everyone else,” Lydia said. “They aren’t good or bad, they just are. And it would pose a real issue if it was one of them. We don’t know how high up this goes. We could be putting ourselves in danger by looking into it.”

“Someone tried to kill me the other night,” Stiles said. He gestured to his throat. “Throttled me while I was walking home. Isaac saved me.”

“Well that does put a different light on matters.” Lydia stood, her hair flaring around her. “I’m going to trace that hex.”

She spun on her heels and stalked out of the room. Scott turned huge eyes to Stiles. “She’s going to war for you, dude.”

“She doesn’t like me like that,” Stiles said. He groaned and tipped his head back against the pillows. “I think I’m too scared of her anyway. Dreams crushed.”

“You’ll find new dreams,” Scott said. He patted Stiles’ arm. “My mom says you’re free to go whenever you feel up to it. You check out.”

“Good. I need like, four showers. God knows what is in that lake.” Stiles rolled out of bed and accepted his dried, warm robes from Scott. “How long was I out?”

“Just an hour,” Scott said. He held the door open for Stiles. They stepped out into the hall, and Stiles saw another patient room with the door shut. Theoretically Derek’s.

“Go on,” Stiles said. “I want to check on him.”

“I’ll come with,” Scott said. He took a step closer, and Stiles held him back with a light touch to his arm.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now,” Stiles said. “He’s going to be pissed that I’m there. I don’t want to exacerbate it.”

Scott looked confused, but nodded. “Let me know if you wanna hang out. Get some rest.”

“I will,” Stiles said. Scott trotted off down the hall, and Stiles faced the shut door. He inhaled and reached for the doorknob, only to freeze when he heard a voice inside the room. What sounded like a woman’s voice, actually.

Stiles very carefully turned the handle and cracked the door in time to see Kate Argent run a finger down Derek’s chest in a very not teacherly manner. Stiles clenched his jaw. Derek had turned his face away and was holding himself tight against the bed, like he couldn’t move if he tried.

Stiles banged open the door and plastered a huge, fake smile on his face. “Derek!”

Ms Argent slid back, not quite concealing the leer that lingered in her expression. Stiles felt his skin crawl. “Stiles! I heard about your little adventure this afternoon. Well done. I’m sure you’ll be commended for your heroism.”

“Anyone would have done it,” Stiles said. He made a show of tripping over his feet and landed himself on the mattress between Derek and Ms Argent. He straightened, pulling his robes into order and winced. “Though if I wanted a swim I would rather have a pool on campus.”

He adjusted his stance until he blocked Ms Argent’s line of sight to Derek, and only then did she shift. “Well, it was wonderful that you were there for him. Shame if anything were to happen.”

“Shame,” Stiles repeated. He offered nothing else, and Ms Argent smiled. She oozed out of the room, letting the door shut behind her. He waited until her footsteps faded down the hall, and then glanced at Derek.

Derek looked checked out. He was staring at the wall to the far side of his bed, and breathing in tense little gasps. Each one twisted Stiles’ heart, and he crouched beside the bed. “Hey. Derek. Can you hear me?”

Derek blinked, confused at the sound of someone else’s voice, and turned perplexed eyes towards Stiles. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles swallowed down a comment about Creepy Teacher’s bad touch and forced his expression to remain neutral. “I wanted to check on you. Drowning sucks.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t…”

Stiles leaned against the mattress, not encroaching but giving his quads a rest. “Do you have a death wish?”

Derek closed his eyes and exhaled. “It doesn’t matter.”

The concern he felt simmered into anger. Stiles reminded himself that there was a story here that he didn’t know, and it obviously ran very, very deep. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m pretty sure it matters to Laura. If someone is after you- There was a hex on the broom, Derek. Hexes don’t just magically appear.”

“There’s nothing anyone can do. I have to just deal with it.” Derek’s face went dark, and he refused to look at Stiles. Instead he focused on the fascinating ceiling above them.

“It’s the Argents, isn’t it?” Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek flinched at the mention of the name. “Kate. I saw her talking to you. Why won’t you tell someone?”

Derek scoffed. “Who exactly do you think they’re going to believe? A werewolf or an established hunting family?”

“You have a case. They can trace the hex-”

“Nobody will listen.” Derek cut him off. Stiles slapped his hand on the mattress, and Derek startled. He twisted to glare at Stiles. Stiles met his eyes and held them.

“I’m listening,” Stiles said. Derek’s eyes widened, and the confusion just deepened in his features. “I believe you, and my dad works for the Bureau for Magical Responsibility. Let me help you.”

“Why do you care?” Derek’s eyes searched his face. Stiles kept his expression as still as possible, though the anger at Derek’s situation swelled in him.

“Because I hate bullies, and I don’t want anyone to die. And the way this is going, they’re going to kill you. You know that, right?” Stiles gripped the sheets in his fists. He wanted to shake Derek, to grab him and dig his fingers in. So that he could feel how serious Stiles was about this. But Derek wouldn’t welcome the touch right now. And that made Stiles’ stomach turn.

Derek closed his eyes. His words were so quiet Stiles barely heard them. “It wouldn’t be any less than I deserve.”

“Hey.” Stiles jerked, instinctively, and his knuckles brushed Derek’s arm. Derek glanced at him. “Nobody deserves to die, dude. And if you don’t believe that right now, then I’ll believe it enough for the both of us. Death doesn’t happen to you. It happens to everyone around you, everyone you leave behind. I don’t know what happened to you, but you can’t fix anything if you’re dead. Laura would be devastated. You’re all she has left.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by Cora’s soft voice. “Not exactly, but close.”

The choked noise that Derek made tore through Stiles’ chest, and he couldn’t help but reach for him. Stiles gripped Derek’s arm as they watched Cora drift closer to the bed. She lifted her shoulders. “Hey, bro.”

“You’re his sister?” Stiles managed.

“Cora Hale. Sierra Hall, just like my big brother.” She smiled, but it was a thin, mean thing. She turned to Derek. “Derek, Uncle Pete’s alive.”

Derek tensed, his arm going solid under Stiles’ hand. “That’s not possible.”

Cora nodded. “I kept trying to tell you earlier, but I can’t get into Sierra Hall. It’s hard to get even this far. Derek, he’s going to kill someone if you don’t stop him.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Derek said. Stiles watched the exchange silently, trying to make himself as small as possible. He felt like an intruder, seeing Derek speak with his dead sister.

“You have to find him. Stiles can help.” Cora nodded at Stiles.

“What?”

“What?”

Stiles and Derek burst at the same time. Stiles shook his head. “I am not helpful at all, in anything- I can get in people’s way-”

“You’re helping Scott,” Cora said. “You’re smart, Stiles. Stop selling yourself short. And make Derek come with you to the study group. He’s smart too.”

“Cora…” Derek whispered, unable to find the energy to speak louder.

“You can come and hang out with me,” Cora said. She drifted towards the door. “I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t be sad, Derek. It wasn’t your fault.”

Derek lurched in the bed, reaching for her, but she vanished. Stiles swallowed thickly, his hand burning on Derek’s arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have seen that.”

Derek dropped his head into his free hand. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “What she was talking about, our study group. There’s a few of us that gather in the basement to brew wolfsbane potion for Scott. If you want to come, you’re welcome. We can use the help. And… I think you could use it, too.”

Derek met Stiles’ gaze. He flicked his eyes once towards the door where Cora had vanished, and then returned to Stiles. “Okay.”

Stiles grinned.

 

 

 

A few days after his fateful dunk in the Preserve’s lake, Stiles pushed through the main doors to his Hall only to be stopped by a crush of students. He weaseled his way through them, craning to see what everyone was staring at. He got to the front of the crowd, only to be stopped by Mr Yukimura.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. We’re just going to be delayed a little bit longer. Teachers will be accepting lates from this Hall, don’t worry,” Mr Yukimura said.

“What’s going on?” Stiles strained on his tiptoes, trying to see over Mr Yukimura. There was a group of teachers huddled in the middle of one of the quads.

“There was something found. The faculty is taking care of it,” Mr Yukimura didn’t answer. Stiles scowled. Adults were horrible at bullshitting, and now he just really wanted to know what had cut off the entire Hall. They were the closest ones to the academic buildings. It had to be serious.

Fingers curled around his elbow, and Stiles whirled to see Isaac. Isaac jerked his head towards the Hall, and tugged Stiles with him as they made their way back through the crowd. Of course. Stiles’ window overlooked the quad.

They ran up the stairs and Stiles burst into his room, Isaac close behind him. They pressed their faces to his window. The teachers gathered around a dark lump in the grass. Stiles couldn’t see anything specific, and some of the adults blocked his view. Isaac sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s a body.” His eyes were wide in his pale face.

Stiles went cold. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s Miranda Lekhardt. Junior from Martin Hall. I recognise the bag,” Isaac said. “She’s covered in blood. How do you not see that?”

“I am not freakishly tall,” Stiles said. “The teachers are in my line of sight.”

Someone had died. Someone had died on campus. Going to school.

A knock at the door dragged their eyes away from the quad. Greenberg waved at them. “Classes are cancelled for today. We’re supposed to stay inside. Lunch is regular hour.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said. He waved back and Greenberg wandered away to convey the news to others in the Hall.

The potion.

Stiles flew to his desk and flipped Lydia’s notes open. He was first shift today. He had to get there by second period or the potion would die a terrible death. Isaac watched him fly around his room, stuffing books into his bag. “You’re not going out there, are you?”

“I have to. Um. Studying? There’s something I have to study. Badly.” Stiles muttered as he did a last book check to make sure he had everything.

“Someone was murdered. Someone tried to kill you a few days ago. Are you not remembering this?” Isaac pointed out. He slammed his hand against the door when Stiles tried to open it.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, I really do. But this is important to me,” Stiles said. He tugged on the door. “More important than a curfew.”

“Fine.” Isaac stepped back, and Stiles opened the door. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Stiles tripped on nothing, and spun on Isaac. “What? No. Stay here.”

“You can’t go out alone, Stiles. You can barely walk down the hall without tripping.” Isaac shoved Stiles out the door and shut it behind them. “Come on. We’ll sneak out the back. I heard some seniors talking about a janitor’s entrance through the kitchen. We can cut around the Pitch.”

It was kind of nice, having a partner in crime again. For years, he and Scott had been joined at the hip in their shenanigans. Since they were sorted into different Halls, and since Scott had laid eyes on Allison, they weren’t able to get into as much trouble together.

They snuck out of their Hall without any issue. There were still students and teachers in the front of their building, so they followed Isaac’s suggestion and took the long way around the Pitch. The Quidditch pitch sat next to the Preserve and had an accessway to the education buildings at the far end. There were considerably less obstacles when they rounded the other side of the Pitch. They slipped into the education building without hassle.

And Stiles couldn’t just leave Isaac in the hall, so he let him into the girls’ bathroom and hoped nobody else would be there. Surely nobody else would be stupid enough to-

Everyone was there.

Stiles groaned.

Scott and Allison were sitting next to each other, propped against the bathroom wall, watching Lydia stir the cauldron. Derek hovered in the far corner of the room, his eyes on the small window that looked out onto the grounds. Kira was curled up in a nest of jackets and sweaters, snoring lightly.

“H-Hey guys, this is Isaac. He’s in Rickonson, like me.” Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Hey, Scott. Allison.” Isaac nodded at them, his cheeks flushing. Scott smiled at him.

“Why don’t we just tell the entire school?” Lydia asked. “I’m sure there’s a few people we’ve missed, Stiles. Do you want to go let them know what we’re doing down here?”

“He didn’t want me walking alone when there’s a crazy murderer out there murdering people,” Stiles said. “Thanks for your concern about my welfare. It’s not like someone tried to kill me or anything.”

Derek’s eyes flashed at him, dark and fierce, and Stiles resolutely ignored him. He went on, “You all have buddies. I’m a hundred forty seven pounds of pale flesh and fragile bone. Sarcasm is my only defense, and I hear that doesn’t work so hot against ax murderers.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It would bore me to death,” Cora said from where she hovered at the ceiling.

“Nobody asked you,” Stiles ground out between his teeth. He sat down hard on the ground beside Kira and shrugged out of his jacket and bag. Isaac sat down next to him, but closer to Scott and Allison.

“So, um, what exactly is going on here that you don’t want anyone to know about that everyone… seems to know about?” Isaac asked. And wow when did he become so sassy?

“We are making a very complicated potion that requires constant monitoring and we may or may not have stolen supplies from Harris to do it,” Lydia said. “And now with people dying, we are going to have a harder time getting in here.”

“Maybe a little more concern about dead bodies,” Allison suggested with a small grin. She fiddled with a chain around her neck, the pendant round and reflective.

The group murmured amongst themselves, and Stiles situated himself against one of the stall doors with a book. He jumped when a shadow fell over the pages and Derek swooped into his vision. “Jesus. I’m gonna put a bell on you.”

“What do you mean, someone tried to kill you?” Derek asked, his voice low and dangerous. He crouched over Stiles, his body a barrier between Stiles and the rest of the group.

Stiles dragged the neck of his sweater away from his skin. Derek narrowed his eyes, and slowly reached for Stiles’ throat. He tucked a warm hand along Stiles’ neck, thumb carefully probing the bruises. Stiles held very still, flushing at how close Derek was.

Derek released him and drew something out of his pocket. Stiles watched as he opened a small pouch and dipped his fingers in. Stiles recognised the tangy smell of comfrey paste, burned into him from his time around Ms McCall. Where Derek had gotten his hands on some, Stiles had no idea. Derek quirked an eyebrow and held up his hands, palms coated in comfrey.

Oh. He wanted to Heal the bruises.

Stunned, Stiles held his collar down in answer and lifted his chin. Derek scooted closer and very, very carefully set his hands around Stiles’ neck, without a threatening increase of pressure. Stiles swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe evenly. Derek’s face shifted into a mask of concentration, and Stiles felt his skin heat where Derek touched.

When Derek drew his hands back, Stiles realised he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly, and blinked, catching Derek’s matching surprise. Stiles ran his fingers over his throat and felt comfrey residue, but he wasn’t sore anymore. He gulped. “Thanks, man. Do I even want to know why you carry that around?”

Derek’s cheeks coloured, and he cast his eyes away. “Well. Sierra Hall students can get very… enthusiastic. At times. I find this helps with the minor cuts and bruises.”

“That’s-” Stiles couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “Adorable. Oh my god.”

Derek ducked his head and grinned. Stiles wished he didn’t hide it, and squashed down the warmth rising in his chest. Derek backed out of his personal space and returned to his shadowed corner, watching the window. Stiles picked his book up, and over the edge he saw Lydia staring at him with a smirk on her perfect lips. Great.

Kira uncurled from her nest and stretched. Lydia set the spoon in the cauldron and stood, brushing her skirt off. She stepped primly around the books and notes on the floor and gathered her things. “Come on, Kira. Our shift is over.”

“Seriously, don’t go anywhere alone. Also, you might want to take the back way. The teachers are enforcing curfew,” Stiles said.

“Be safe, guys,” Kira said as they left. She waved at them and closed the door after Lydia.

“We should get back, too,” Scott said. He stood and helped Allison to his feet. “I’ll walk you back, Allison.”

“Who’s going to walk you back, Scott?” Stiles asked. It was technically his turn to monitor the potion. There were some tricky ingredients to be added in the next hour.

“I’ll be fine,” Scott said. Isaac clambered to his feet.

“I’ll walk you back,” Isaac said. Stiles opened his mouth, but Scott got there first.

“Cool, and you can stay over, then, right?” Scott asked. “We’ll get you back to Rickonson when it’s light.”

Allison tugged on Scott’s hand, urging him to hurry. Stiles didn’t have a chance to protest. Scott grinned at him and ushered Allison and Scott out the door, shutting it. He had totally been ditched.

“Wow, they totally ditched you,” Cora said from above him.

“Thanks,” Stiles said in a strangled voice. “Thank you. So much.”

“How are you going to get home?” Cora carried on, completely ignoring him.

“I’ll walk you back,” Derek said from his place at the window. Stiles and Cora turned as one. Derek kept his eyes fixed firmly on the window, staring at something that was undoubtedly fascinating on the grounds.

“How will you get back?” Stiles asked.

“Walk.” Derek glared at him and lifted an eyebrow. Damn. His eyebrows were so expressive. It was like watching an entirely different language spread across his face.

“And what happens if the ax murderer comes after you?” Stiles asked, because he physically couldn’t shut up ever.

Derek’s shoulder lifted, a half-hearted shrug. “I’ll rip his throat out.”

“Whoa. That’s hardcore,” Stiles said. He threw himself to the floor next to the cauldron and picked up Lydia’s notes on where she left off. Derek grunted noncommittally, and folded his arms over the muscled expanse of his chest. “You’re going to be here a while, you know that right? This is the long shift. I have to smash these herbs together, soak them, and then add them to the brew. It’s like tea for magic.”

Derek startled him again, dropping to the ground next to him and folding his legs under him. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me,” Derek repeated. He nodded at the books and notes splayed out around them.

“Um, well.” Stiles wasn’t sure where exactly to start. So he took it from the top. “Basically the slow introduction of aconite into the werewolf’s system helps repress the lycanthropic blood. Because magic is heavily influenced by lunar cycles, if the potion is introduced exactly a week before the full moon occurs, it will have the fullest effect. Lydia read up on perigee and apogee and degrees of ascension… She pinned down the rise of the full moon to the minute, and we were force feeding Scott the potion all week. It still didn’t work, though.”

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his hair and sighed. “I’m not sure what we did wrong. It had to be in the physical stirring, or mixing of the ingredients, because I’m sure we measured out everything to the milligram.”

Derek grunted, shifting through the papers in front of him. He apparently didn’t have anything helpful to offer, so Stiles turned his attention back to the potion. When Derek spoke, Stiles jumped. “Why aren’t you in Martin Hall?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to force his heart back into his chest. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Derek held up the papers. “This is brilliant. These. I couldn’t have done this when I was in tenth grade. Hell, I can’t do it now. You’re really smart.”

Stiles flushed and stabbed at a mistletoe twig with his pestle. “I’m not that smart. I just have the uncanny ability to remember everything I’ve ever come in contact with and possess the attention span of a squirrel.”

“Yeah. Your notes are all over the place but, this is still genius material. There’s a reason this potion is so expensive.” Derek waved the papers and set them down on a pile of books. “Because it’s really hard to make. And you and Lydia made a working version of it.”

“Scott still wolfed out and almost chomped me in half,” Stiles pointed out.

“Yeah, but you didn’t poison him to death, which is a very real possibility with this potion,” Derek countered. He stared at Stiles and frowned. “You know this is graduate stuff, right? And you didn’t kill your friend.”

“Whatever. I have to get it right. Or Lydia’s going to stab me with her four inch Louis Vuitton.” Stiles smashed the pestle into the mortar until the mistletoe was almost a paste. Derek fell silent at his side, watching intensely.

Almost two hours later, Stiles uncurled from his crouch and rubbed his neck. He grimaced, stretching, and popped all of his joints with the motion. He heaved a sigh, and saw Derek was still staring at him. “Jeez. Creeper wolf much? I know you’re my ride and everything, but I can’t be that interesting.”

Derek just grunted, but turned his gaze to something else. Cora laughed over their heads and Stiles chucked a ball of paper through her. She snorted. “Rude!”

Stiles dusted off his hands and stood. His knees creaked in protest, and he winced. “Oh my god I’m getting old.”

“You’re fifteen, Stiles. You’re not old,” Derek said, standing with him.

“Not compared to you,” Stiles pointed out. “You’re like. A million.”

Derek shoved him lightly. “I’m nineteen.”

“Yeah. Like, a million,” Stiles said. He grinned. He shoved Derek back. He clamped down on the warm feeling he got when he saw Derek’s gentle grin. He shoved his way out of the bathroom and tossed a goodbye over his shoulder at Cora.

The sun hung low in the sky when they exited the education building. Stiles pressed himself against the wall as a teacher scurried by, walking quickly with his wand out. Shit. They were going to get into so much trouble. Derek’s hand pressed against his chest, keeping him pinned to the wall, and he waved his other hand in front of Stiles’ eyes. A ceramic concealment charm dangled from a leather wristlet.

“Why do you even have that?” Stiles hissed, grabbing at it with both hands.

“I find it comes in handy avoiding certain people,” Derek said. He gripped Stiles’ elbow. “The only issue is, you have to stay close.”

“That’s fine.” They were already close enough to share the same air. Stiles swallowed the whimper of embarrassment at the though of being pressed against Derek’s long, hard- Whoa. Body. Stiles. Focus. His teenage body was very excited. His brain was mortified. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

“You are unbelievable.” Derek snorted and activated the charm. The air around them shimmered, and Stiles felt the buzz of magic dance along his exposed skin.

Concealment charms didn’t make one invisible. They made the air distort just enough that if someone wasn’t watching too closely, they would pass unnoticed. Of course, this fell apart if someone ran into them, or stared hard enough. But as long as they kept to the shadows and didn’t make any noise, they should be fine.

It totally worked.

Derek escorted Stiles right up to the side of his Hall without anyone noticing them. He deactivated the charm and Stiles turned to hop onto the stairs to his building. He froze when Derek crowded the space at his shoulder and whispered just beside his ear. “The line is ‘Lay on, MacDuff’.”

And then he vanished. Literally. He activated the charm and Stiles lost track of him. Impressed by the sneakiness of that literature knowledge drop, Stiles just gaped. “Son of a bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	7. Second Time's the Charm?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a shallow hit, the arrowhead just barely stuck in Derek’s muscle. It was bleeding, but Stiles thought he could get it with one tug. He pressed his hand to Derek’s fur.
> 
> “I’m going to pull it out,” Stiles said. “Please don’t bite me.”
> 
> Derek turned away, and Stiles wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He inhaled to steady himself and then yanked with all his strength.
> 
> The arrow came free with a wet, slushy sound, and Stiles tossed it away in disgust. Derek’s body relaxed, slumping, and Stiles wondered if he was as exhausted as Stiles felt. Derek twisted to lap at the wound, and Stiles crawled away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Scenes of physical violence, mild gore, and Derek has a run in with Kate

Classes resumed the next day, and they were able to get right back on schedule with the potion. Stiles slid into the education building under the watchful eye of the increased security goons hovering all over campus, hired by Allison’s dad as part of the new campus protection. Something about kids getting murdered put everyone on edge.

Stiles, Lydia, and Kira were free first period, and met up in the bathroom to check how the potion had fared overnight. They were measuring out another ingredient when Derek entered. Stiles did not miss the way Lydia pursed her lips at him. “Hey, Derek,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded at them, nonchalantly stepped over Kira napping on the floor, and took his position by the window, staring out over the grounds. Stiles rolled his shoulders and got back to the potion. Lydia looked like she had other plans, though. She tilted her head, her red curls spilling over her shoulder. “We can't keep producing the potion. Someone is going to find us, and there isn't an infinite supply of ingredients. Harris is going to catch on."

“So... We'll just continue with the ash line, then. I mean, Derek and Laura can help keep him in check." Stiles fiddled with the ladle. "We can start... looking into better protective barriers. There has to be a way to make the full moon safe for everyone involved."

Lydia gave him a pitying look. “Stiles, who bit Scott?”

Derek’s head whipped towards them as Stiles’ mouth fell open in a horrified ‘oh’. It wasn’t Derek or Laura. The creature Stiles had fought off was a bitten wolf, long and limber and terrifyingly gross.

“And we can’t very well force him to take wolfsbane potion the week before the full moon, because we don’t even know who it is,” Lydia said.

“He has malicious intent. The line would keep him out,” Stiles said. “Deaton makes a line of mountain ash around the- er- house. If I just stay inside the line, I’ll be fine. What do you mean ‘we’?”

“I have to see what’s going wrong with the potion,” Lydia said, matter of factly. “I don’t like it. There’s too much that could go wrong. We need something else.”

“Bitten wolves don’t go after other animals.” Derek spoke up from his shadowed corner. Stiles glanced at him. “They only go after humans. It’s the instinct to share the pain. Shared pain is lessened.”

“Great. So you’re telling me all I have to do is turn into a rabbit on the full moon and I’ll be fine?” Stiles didn’t like the absolute silence that fell over the room when he shut his mouth. He glanced between Lydia, whose eyes went impossibly wide, and Derek, who grimaced like he had swallowed a bug. Lydia let out a gasp.

“Animagi.” She practically vibrated in place with sheer excitement. Her eyes lit with the fire of a new challenge, and she clasped her hands tightly on her lap.

“Really? I thought that was super hard,” Stiles said. Lydia scowled.

“And the wolfsbane potion is easier? I’m saying we should look into it.” Lydia shifted through a pile of books at her knees and tossed one at Stiles. He caught it against his chest.

“That sounds like fun. I wanna be a fox,” Kira said. She shifted around in her nest of jackets and bags, and hummed in content.

“How many naps do you take in a day?" Stiles poked her in the shoulder. “And I don’t think you get to chose what animal you become. It’s a reflection of your inner self.”

“Naps are the best. If everyone took more naps we’d be happier,” Kira said. She stretched and nudged Stiles’ thigh with a toe. “I bet you’d be a fox.”

“More like a squirrel,” Lydia said. Stiles snorted, and knew she wasn’t wrong. Kira shook her hair out and pushed herself upright.

“Foxes are clever and quick. Just like Stiles.” Kira grinned at him, wide and enthusiastic. “I think you’d be a fox.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I think Lydia’s right,” Stiles said. He shrugged and flipped the book open. It was a Cliffnotes version of shapeshifters and wolfsbane, with special focus on werewolves. It was enough to get him started. “Hey, we should go.”

Lydia glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. They all moved for the door, including Derek. Stiles glanced at him. “What class do you have?”

“World Literature,” Derek said. He smirked, like it was some private joke, and held the door for Stiles.

“What are you reading now?” Stiles asked. Derek was a senior. It was good to know what to look forward to. The rumours around school had the Hobbit on a list somewhere, and Stiles needed to get into that class post-haste.

“Journey to the West,” Derek said. “It’s one of the most influential stories in Eastern culture.”

“Cool,” Stiles said. He hesitated at the door of his class, and they watched Lydia and Kira enter the room. “Um, this is me…”

“I know,” Derek said. Stiles smiled.

“Okay creeper wolf.” Stiles nodded down the hall. “You should get to class, too.”

Derek blinked, like he hadn’t thought about it, and nodded. He easily shifted into the flow of students and disappeared towards his class. Stiles entered Potions to find Lydia had saved him a seat with Martin Hall. He slid into the chair beside Lydia.

“You like him,” she said.

“What? No.” Stiles couldn’t help the hot flush that warmed his cheeks. “Um. Okay. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, everyone has,” Lydia said. She gazed into the distance, her voice predatory. “Hundred eighty pounds of solid muscle. Who wouldn’t notice that?”

“Hundred pounds of muscle and man angst,” Stiles said. He slouched in his chair until Lydia kicked it, antagonising him to sit up straight. “Also, have you seen me? I can’t go up to him and say ‘hey I have a giant dork crush on you please don’t bash my face in’. That would not go over well.”

“I simply made an observation,” Lydia said. She turned her attention to the front of the class as Mr Harris started scratching equations out on the chalkboard.

Potions always dragged, and today was no exception. Stiles couldn’t help flipping through the Animagi book while he listened to Harris drone on and on about layering ingredients.

When class was over, he made his way into the hall with the rest of the students. Lydia nudged his ribs, and jerked her chin down the hall. Stiles followed her gesture and saw Derek standing against the wall, speaking with Kate Argent. Or being spoken to, it looked like. Derek’s shoulders were flat against the wall, and he wasn’t looking at Kate.

“I’ll save you a seat in trig,” Lydia said. Stiles nodded, already on his way over to Derek.

The crush of students prevented him from hearing what the conversation was actually about, and as soon as Stiles stepped into Derek’s line of sight his entire expression changed. Stiles ignored him and quickened his pace, as if he had been weaving through the students in a rush.

“Ms Argent!” Stiles threw himself at Kate, halting just in time to stop a glorious collision that would have brought him in contact with her. “Oh thank god. I have so many questions about the assignment you gave us. Do you want those page front and back? Or just front. And does it really have to be handwritten, because Rickonson has this really old typewriter thing that works on campus, and I was thinking of leasing some time on it for the essay, because mystical properties of protective barriers is just so fascinating-”

Stiles inhaled, ready to keep going, but Ms Argent held up a hand. “Stiles. I have office hours for a reason. They’re in the syllabus.”

Stiles pulled an exaggerated pout. “But you’re right here! And I have like, a whole five minutes to get to my next class. That’s like an hour my time.”

Ms Argent shook her head. “Office hours.”

And then she turned and walked away, without a word to Derek. Stiles exhaled sharply and glanced at him. He was pale, his eyes pinched and distraught. Instead of a thank you, though, Derek shoved past Stiles and into the flow of students.

“Whoa, hey!” Stiles yelled after him. He scooted around slower students and managed to catch up with Derek. He grabbed his shoulder, and when Derek whirled with a violent glare, Stiles jerked his hand back. “You’re welcome.”

“Stay away from me, Stiles.” Derek growled. Legit, rumble in throat, growled.

“Fine.” Stiles stepped back into another student. He ignored her irritated comment, too absorbed in the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. “Fine.”

He left Derek standing in the middle of the flow of students and somehow found his way to trigonometry. He sat down next to Lydia and she frowned at him. “What happened?”

“He told me to stay away from him,” Stiles said. He flipped open his math textbook and glared at it, hoping it would take his mind of his disastrous rescue attempt.

“Typical,” Lydia said.

“What?”

She twirled her pencil in hand. “Wounded animals snap at their rescuers, because they don’t know to trust them.”

“Derek’s not an… animal,” Stiles said. Lydia huffed.

“It’s an analogy, Stiles. I’m trying to be your sage advisor because watching you fawn isn’t pretty,” she said. “And Derek Hale is interesting. He’s one of the few I don’t have background on. Don’t you remember what he used to be like?”

“No. I never… Cared. He was Sierra Hall, and grades above us. I was still young and magic-struck.” Stiles shrugged. “Our paths never crossed.”

“You are still young, Stiles,” Lydia said with a fond smile. “I just think there’s more there than meets the eye. He did lose his entire family. That changes a person.”

“Yeah.” Stiles doodled in the margin of his textbook. “It does.”

 

 

 

The full moon was early in the morning the next month, and Stiles’ wake up charm squawked in his ear around two in the morning on the night of. He groaned and rolled out of bed, grasping for the duffel he had preloaded with essentials before going to sleep. A hefty helping of mountain ash, some fire charms, his trusty bat, and a change of clothes for Scott.

And loads of snacks. Including curly fries he had snagged from the kitchens in his Hall.

The grounds were blissfully silent at that hour in the morning, and Stiles jogged towards the Preserve, his bag jostling against his back. Someone reared up out of the darkness when he rounded Sierra Hall, and he jerked backwards, unleashing the handful of mountain ash he gripped in white knuckles.

The man sputtered and coughed, staggering back, and flailed. “Jesus, Stiles!”

Stiles froze, recognising Derek’s voice. Derek bent over his knees and gagged, spitting out some ash that had gotten into his mouth.

“Sorry! Oh god. I thought you were the axe murderer!” Stiles’s hands flailed, unsure where to touch, if touch was even wanted. Probably not. Derek hated him. Sort of. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s good that you’re prepared.” Derek gasped, trying to get his breath back. He looked vaguely nauseated in the dim light of the street lamps. He wiped a hand over his face one last time and nodded to the Preserve. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He reloaded a fistful of mountain ash and they started off into the extremely dark, extremely ominous woods.

Derek knew exactly where he was going, and said nothing as they penetrated the forest further. Stiles tried to ignore the feeling of his skin prickling, trying to warn him of danger. He wasn’t _safe_ safe with Derek, but he was safer than if he had been alone.

The Hale House loomed out of the darkness, a darker shadow blotting out the stars in the sky. Stiles and Derek met up with Deaton, Laura, and Scott who were standing just outside a fresh ring of mountain ash. “Good morning, Stiles,” Deaton said. He did not look phased that it was approximately two in the morning.

“Yo.” Stiles waved.

“Because we are still unsure if the wolfsbane potion will work, Derek and Laura, I want you to stay with Stiles. Scott will transform in another part of the house, and Derek and Laura will be with Stiles if something goes wrong,” Deaton said. “And you will lead him outside the circle, to me.”

“For the record, I think this is a terrible idea,” Derek said. He stripped out of his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. In the middle of the forest.

Stiles averted his gaze, only to find Laura had stripped to her sports bra and panties. He spun in place so quickly he lost his balance and crashed into Scott. Scott steadied him with a laugh. Scott was also naked, but that was a less strange occurrence. Stiles clung to it, figuratively and literally.

“I agree, but Mr Stilinski has proven that he will stand with Scott no matter the personal risk. This will hopefully alleviate a good deal of the danger,” Deaton said. Derek grunted but said nothing further. “When you’re ready. We have about five minutes.”

They all stepped over the line and trudged up the slight incline towards the burnt-out shell of a house. Scott waved at them, grin lopsided, and headed to a far corner of the house. Stiles, Derek, and Laura climbed up the stairs to the second floor, each step making the wood creak ominously.

Laura kept her head tilted towards the sky, waiting for the shift to start, and Derek stared into the darkness of his shattered home. Stiles bit his lip. “I feel like maybe this isn’t the best spot for you guys.”

Derek glanced at him but said nothing, which, naturally, encouraged Stiles to continue talking. “Transforming is bad enough, but to do it here? There has to be an easier way to manage the transformation.”

Derek’s face fell, opening up with a soft vulnerability that made Stiles’ chest ache. He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, the light of the full moon struck. Derek gasped, the air punched out of him, and he slumped against the wall. Stiles reached for him, fingers closing around Derek’s shoulders, helping ease him to the ground.

This close, Stiles could literally feel Derek’s bones snapping, moving, and reshaping into his forced wolf form. He swallowed down hard on his stomach making its way up his throat, and murmured soothing noises. He stroked a hand down rapidly sprouting fur as Derek’s limbs elongated and cracked into place.

In minutes, Stiles had a fully formed wolf in his arms, panting through its pain. Derek whined, ears flat against his skull, and Stiles gripped him close. They both shook, and Stiles pressed his face to Derek’s soft coat. When Derek stopped shaking, Stiles lifted his face and pushed to his feet.

Laura trotted to his other side, and Stiles slid his bat out of his bag. He gripped the bat firmly in both hands, and waited, the two massive wolves at his side, guarding him like sentinels. Beneath them, Scott howled. The sound sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine that worsened when he heard footsteps padding up the stairs.

Derek and Laura started growling, deep in their chests as Scott crested the stairs, snout in the air. Derek placed himself between Scott and Stiles, waiting to see what Scott would do. Stiles held his breath. He wasn’t sure if he should call out to Scott, or just hope he wouldn’t see them.

No such luck, or as the Stilinski luck would have it, Scott pinned Stiles with his beady little eyes. Stiles gulped. “Scott? You in there, buddy?”

Scott’s lip peeled back, baring his teeth, and Stiles took an involuntary step backwards. He didn’t have to worry, though, because Derek immediately tuned his threatening growl at Scott and stalked forward. Stiles shifted his sweaty grip on his bat and waited while Derek forced Scott further and further down the stairs.

Laura loped in front of him, casting one glance over her shoulder to encourage Stiles to follow her. She would take him to Deaton.

Stiles sighed. He would not relish telling Lydia that the potion had failed again. Maybe he could convince Scott to break the news. If he could get out of the house alive with his limbs in tact. Derek had pushed Scott back into the house, and Laura escorted Stiles out the front door.

They broke away from the house, and a pained yelp followed them out. Stiles spared a moment to look behind him, and saw long, fur-covered limbs lunging at him. He just barely had time to swing the bat up between Scott’s teeth before he was on the ground, scrambling to push himself out from under Scott.

Laura tackled Scott off him in a flash of teeth and fur, and Stiles clambered to his feet. His side burned, but he couldn’t stop to look at it. He ran, towards the edge of the circle, as fast as he could on rubbery legs. He heard something large crunching after him.

He was steps away from the line when his legs went out from under him. The ground slammed into his chest, and the air punched out of him. Something sliced through the air with a shrill whistle, and Scott dropped to the ground with a surprised, canine yelp.

“No!” Stiles yelled. A crossbow bolt protruded from Scott’s chest, shuddering with each agonised gasp. Stiles didn’t think. He was at Scott’s side, hands on the bolt before Derek or Laura could stop him.

Another arrow snicked past him, digging into the ground just inches away. Derek ran at him and paused just long enough to grab his hoodie in his massive jaw, and dragged Stiles away from Scott, towards the line. No. Towards the forest. Deaton was the other way.

Derek dropped Stiles in a pile of bushes, well beyond the line and Deaton. Stiles lay there, gasping for air, and Derek stood over him, four paws planted firmly on the ground and ears pricked forward, hyperalert. He was deathly silent, though. Stiles couldn’t even hear intake of breath, and instinctively he tried to quiet his own panting.

He heard a twig snap somewhere in the darkness.

There was someone else here.

Stiles sat up carefully, one hand on Derek’s flank so he was aware of the motion. Stiles peered into the forest, hoping to see something that would help them. He couldn’t see anything, and his concentration was waning. His side burned, and when he touched fingers to it they came away dark and sticky. “Shit.”

He pressed a hand hard to his side and dug his fingers into Derek’s fur. Derek’s body was still low to the ground, responding to the imminent threat. Minutes passed, and finally Derek dropped his threat stance. He turned to Stiles and tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie, urging him to his feet. Stiles staggered upright and leaned heavily against Derek.

They started walking slowly through the woods, and the desolate silence of the Preserve closed in around them. Stiles couldn’t hear anything except his own rasping breaths. The forest even seemed to swallow their own footfalls. Derek led them away from the House, back towards campus, and Stiles didn’t have the energy to protest.

Derek led them right up to Rickonson Hall’s back door. Stiles had to stop for breath before whispering the password. He and Derek slipped into the building and quietly shut the door behind them. Stiles would not have made it up the stairs without Derek’s help. His legs felt like jelly, and colour was fading out of his vision.

He lost a bit of time, and came to on his bed, Derek nosing at his hand with a low whine. Stiles shifted to pet his muzzle, and pain flared from his side. He gasped, and pulled himself up to finally look at what had happened. Scott’s claws slashed through his hoodie and undershirt, splitting flesh along his ribs. They weren’t deep, but they still bled sluggishly.

With no small amount of effort, he pulled his hoodie and shirt over his head and dumped them on the floor. He slid off the mattress and onto the floor as gently as he could, and pulled a duffel from under the bed. It contained his accumulated first aid equipment from years of playing Quidditch. He dragged out gauze and bandages.

Derek whined again and nosed at the wounds, and before Stiles could stop him, dragged his tongue along one of the claw marks.

Stiles choked, and shoved Derek’s nose away. His voice was strangled when he said, “Bad dog.”

Derek hovered over him but didn’t try to lick him again as Stiles wrapped his ribs with shaking hands. When he finally taped the last bandage in place he was exhausted. He leaned against the bed and rolled his head to look at Derek.

It was only then that he noticed the arrow sticking out of Derek’s flank. He cursed and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He crawled over to Derek and knelt beside him. Derek held himself as still as he could while Stiles looked at the wound.

It was a shallow hit, the arrowhead just barely stuck in Derek’s muscle. It was bleeding, but Stiles thought he could get it with one tug. He pressed his hand to Derek’s fur.

“I’m going to pull it out,” Stiles said. “Please don’t bite me.”

Derek turned away, and Stiles wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He inhaled to steady himself and then yanked with all his strength.

The arrow came free with a wet, slushy sound, and Stiles tossed it away in disgust. Derek’s body relaxed, slumping, and Stiles wondered if he was as exhausted as Stiles felt. Derek twisted to lap at the wound, and Stiles crawled away from him.

He dug his fingers into the covers of his bed and dragged himself onto his mattress. He lay, panting, and grunted when he felt the bed shift under him. He cracked an eye open to see Derek pull himself onto the bed and stretched out beside him, favouring his wounded hind leg. Stiles patted the bed beside him, and Derek snuggled close, acting for all the world like an overlarge dog. Stiles buried his face in Derek’s soft fur and passed out.

 

 

 

He was alive.

Stiles inhaled sharply and woke up. He blinked, and shifted. His arm was pinned under something heavy and burning. His vision focused, taking much more effort than it should have, and saw he was spooned up against a very naked, very hot, very sweaty Derek Hale.

“Whoa-” Stiles gasped and jerked, trying to free his arm. Derek wasn’t budging, and coughed around a wounded noise. Stiles froze. “Derek?”

Derek’s eyes flickered open. He tipped his shock-white face towards Stiles. Stiles reached without thinking, holding his chin steady.

“Wow. You look like shit. Are you okay?”

Derek bend his leg at the knee, and revealed the wound from last night, now turned black with rot. Stiles pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stop himself from gagging. “The arrowhead was silver.”

Stiles untangled himself from Derek and sat up, touching Derek’s leg carefully around the wound. “What do I do?”

Derek shook his head. “Like food poisoning. Just have to work through it.”

“But-” Stiles waved at Derek’s leg. “This!”

Derek shifted, throwing his arm across the bed as he panted. He really looked terrible. His face was deathly pale, but his chest was flushed as if he had been in the sun all day without sunscreen. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and the other cuts and bruises he had obtained last night stood out in stark relief against the thin sheen of sweat covering his body.

Stiles made an executive decision. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Derek didn’t acknowledge him, and Stiles quietly left the room. He took the stairs at his usual pace, and halted when his side twinged painfully. He took a few breaths, leaning against the stairwell.

“Stiles?”

Stiles jerked around to see Lydia climbing the stair well with Isaac in tow. She looked impeccable, as always, and Isaac looked flustered behind her. Stiles had never been so happy to see her in his life. “Lydia, thank god. Please-”

Lydia pressed her lips together and shoved Isaac towards his floor before tearing up the stairs ahead of Stiles. She strode right down his hall, ignoring the looks she was receiving, and threw open Stiles’ door. She grimaced, but entered the room and Stiles followed her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Scott is still in medical,” Lydia said. She shucked her jacket and kicked off her heels before approaching the bed where Derek lay sweating. “Gross. Silver poisoning.”

“How can I help him?” Stiles asked.

Lydia tugged her bag open and rummaged through it. She pulled out a few canisters with powdered substances in them. She handed them to Stiles as she named them. “Ginger, to settle his stomach, comfrey paste for the open wound, and chili strips to help work the poison out faster. I brought them over for you because Scott was about to break down the building to come after you, but you look fine.”

“H-His ribs.” Derek gasped. Lydia whirled on Stiles, righteous fury set in her shoulders.

Stiles took a step back, but Lydia crowded him up against the wall and practically ripped his shirt up to reveal the bandages underneath. “Sit, Stiles.”

Stiles refrained from making an off colour dog joke and collapsed into his desk chair. Lydia peeled away the bandages and gingerly prodded the claw marks. “Did you even wash these?”

“It was four o’clock in the morning, Lydia, and someone shot at me with a crossbow. I wasn’t really thinking clearly,” Stiles said. “I’m lucky I managed to get back here and not die in the quad.”

“Yes, that would make monitoring the potion very difficult,” Lydia said. Stiles groaned as she scrubbed a wet towel over dried blood. “How did it go?”

“Bust. Again,” Stiles said. He clenched his jaw as she poked at his open wounds. “He came after me. Laura had to tackle him to give me time to run. Which worked out really well, as you can see.”

“Scott said it felt more like a lucid dream this time,” Lydia said. “I think we’re getting closer. He remembered thinking that you weren’t safe with the two wolves, so he tried to help you.”

“I think he should try to help me less,” Stiles said. He held very still when Lydia pressed comfrey paste to the claw marks. The familiar healing tingle skittered across his skin, and when she withdrew her hands, the marks were thin pink scars. The pain faded until it was just a dull ache, and Stiles could breathe again. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be an idiot next time,” Lydia said. She slapped his arm. His shied away from her, and she brought her supplied with her to the bed. Stiles followed, crawling up onto the mattress while Lydia laid out the herbs. “Do you have a towel or something, to put under his leg?”

Stiles grabbed his disgusting, shredded shirt from the night before and tucked it under Derek’s thigh. Derek watched them warily, chest heaving. Lydia smoothed the shirt down and pressed strips of paper soaked in chili essence against the inflamed veins surrounding the wound. She cupped her hands around the wound and glared at it. Sheer force of will was a driving factor in all magical practice, and Lydia did not lack it.

As Stiles watched, thick, black blood oozed from the wound onto the shirt and Derek’s breathing eased. Red, poisoned veins purged themselves under Lydia’s hands, and returned to normal size and colour. The wound no longer looked like it was rotting through the entire leg. It looked like a normal puncture wound, bleeding down Derek’s thigh.

Stiles released the breath he was holding, and Lydia sat back, wiping her hands on Stiles’ pant leg. He didn’t have the energy to be offended. He wanted to sleep forever. “How did you-”

“I saw Deaton do it to Scott. Scott was hit with a silver tipped arrow last night, too,” Lydia said. She sat back on her heels.

“Laura-” Derek’s voice was no longer laced with pain, but it scratched out of his throat.

“Laura is fine,” Lydia said. “Not a scratch on her, unlike you two morons. Someone was trying to kill you. You’re just lucky that they were terrible shots. And that Stiles was there to throw the targets around. Or be thrown around.”

Stiles rolled his shoulders, working out the stiffness that had set in. “The latter. Definitely the latter. I feel like I could sleep forever.”

“Principal Argent is on a warpath," Lydia said, "He thinks someone broke into his Hunting stash. As if any of the students were interested in any of his out-dated hunting methods. Did you know that he still, to this day, insists on using a broadsword? Who does that?”

“That’s horrifying.”

Lydia tossed the ginger powder at Stiles. He flailed and juggled it between both hands before snatching it up against his chest. “Make some tea. It’ll settle his stomach while the rest of the poison works itself out. I would stay in, today. There seems to be a terrible ‘stomach flu’ going around, so you guys won’t be missed.”

“I am so, so glad you are on our side,” Stiles said around his shock. Lydia smirked and leaned close.

“You won’t be glad if you don’t pull up that Magical History grade.” She hissed in his ear and then stood, grabbing her things and flouncing out the door. Stiles sat frozen in his spot until Derek poked him in the knee.

“I’ll be right back. Tea. Making tea. And then probably you will need a shower. Because the bleeding.” Stiles jumped up and bolted.

He saw evidence of Lydia’s stomach flu while in the kitchen. No less than three students went running into the bathroom with their hands over their mouths, slightly green in the face. That girl was terrifying. Nonlethal and still terrifying.

He made his way back up to his room with two steaming mugs of ginger hot water. He gently toed open the door to his room, and saw Derek had passed out on his mattress, again. Just lay there, on top of the covers and everything.

Stiles shook his head and set the mugs down on the bedside table. He shook Derek gently. “Hey. Wake up, dude.”

Derek blinked and pushed himself upright against the headboard of Stiles’ bed. Definitely shower. After tea. Stiles sat on the edge of the mattress and held the mug of ginger water while Derek wrapped his hands around it. Stiles eased the mug towards Derek, and Derek took slow, shallow sips from it. His shaking eased, and a bit of colour returned to his cheeks.

“Do you think you can shower?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded.

He slid his legs over the edge of the bed and Stiles stood to give him room to stand. Stiles crouched in front of his dresser and tugged open a drawer. He tossed a pair of sweats at Derek, and they landed on his head. Derek blinked and grabbed them.

“It’s down the hall, third door on the right,” Stiles said. Derek nodded and left to shower.

Stiles stared at his bed.

The sheets were ruined. Blood stains, grass stains, twigs, leaves, and mud scuffed up everything. Stiles would have to burn them.

He peeled back the bedclothes and bundled them into a pile in the corner of his room. Forcing weary arms to obey him, he tucked new sheets around the edge of the mattress and salvaged the comforter, tossing it on the clean bedding.

His own bloodstained clothing joined the burn pile and he slithered into warm sweats and a soft, worn tshirt. The change was instant. He felt more human, and even more exhausted than he had been. He groaned and collapsed onto the mattress.

The window clicking dragged him back from the brink of slumber, and he opened his eyes to see Derek with one leg out the window. “Where’re you goin’?”

Derek froze and wobbled, awkwardly balanced. He gripped the windowsill unsteadily. “I was going back.”

“You look like a stiff breeze would knock you over,” Stiles said, his voice muffled in his pillow. He slapped the mattress. “Come back.”

Derek hesitated, hovering in the window, until Stiles whined. He shook his head, and climbed back into the room. He shut the window, locked it- because apparently Stiles is the only one who doesn’t lock the fifth floor windows- and stumbled back to bed.

Stiles rolled over to let Derek drop onto the mattress next to him. Something glinted in the light, and Stiles saw Derek fiddle with the arrow he had been shot with. He took it out of Derek’s hand. “No weapons in bed.”

“But now you’re holding it in bed,” Derek helpfully pointed out. He tipped his head towards Stiles, eyes hooded. Stiles stared at him and watched in awe as he fell asleep without another word. Just parted his lips and let his eyes shut. Just like that.

He must have been tired. Stiles wiggled on the bed, glad he had forced Derek to stay. The kid probably would have passed out en route.

Stiles turned the arrow over in his hands, prodding the tip. Dried blood crusted around the serrated edges, and underneath a smudge of reddish brown, Stiles saw what looked like the fleur de lis engraved in the side. He scratched at the blood with a thumbnail, and it flaked off to reveal the signature curves of a French crest. A family crest of some sort.

He twisted the bolt in his hands and investigated the fletching. Reinforced plastic. He frowned. This was top of the line material. The crest on the head looked so familiar. He knew he had seen it before. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Stiles lay on his back and set the arrow on his chest, folding his hands over it. He turned his head and watched Derek breathe. Burning curiosity clawed at him. He needed to know what had happened to Derek. Why the Argents were after him. Why they wanted so badly to destroy him. It didn’t connect. And Stiles couldn’t figure out why the Hales hadn’t gotten help. He was missing an important piece of the puzzle, and he really did not enjoy it.

Derek cracked an eyelid. His voice slurred with exhaustion. “ ‘s very Edward Cullen of you.”

Wait. Kate’s amulet. The back of it had a fleur de lis. Stiles held himself very still.

“Shut up, this is my room, dude,” Stiles said. Allison had the amulet now. There had to be a way to link them. “And you are the last one to talk about creepy staring, stalker wolf. Twilight would have been so much better if Bella had straight up Buffy’d Cullen’s ass the first time he sniffed her.”

“No good. Cullen would have pissed himself,” Derek said. He grunted and shifted closer to Stiles’ warmth. “Buffy would feel too bad to stake him.”

“Oh my god. You are evil and awesome.” Stiles whispered in awe. Derek bumped his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder and blindly reached for the arrow. He twisted it free of Stiles’ fingers and tossed it onto the floor, ignoring Stiles’ noise of protest.

“Rest.” Not a suggestion.

Stiles wasn’t exactly arguing. He consciously unlocked the tension in his shoulders and thighs, and relaxed against the softness of his bed. He fell asleep to the steady sound of Derek breathing beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	8. Beacon Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles pulled away from Derek and launched himself onto the bed. Scott grabbed him tight and held on, and Stiles buried his face in Scott’s shoulder. They spent precious breaths hugging the shit out of each other, and when Stiles pulled back Scott gave him a loopy grin. “I got shot with an arrow!”
> 
> “Oh my god.” Stiles hung his head. “That is not something to be excited about.”
> 
> “It was pretty awesome. Deaton was totally badass,” Scott said. He pulled the hem of his shirt up, revealing bandages strapped to his midriff. “I got silver poisoning.”
> 
> “Scott, please stop talking,” Stiles said. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : Underage make-out session cut short by reference to sexual assault/manipulation

He woke up way closer to Derek than when he had fallen asleep, and he jerked backwards. He smashed into the wall, and Derek’s eyes opened. Stiles scrambled off the bed, untangling himself from the covers and Derek, and stood in the centre of his room, flailing.

“Should we go see the pup?” Stiles asked after an impressive awkward silence.

Derek snorted, and pushed himself out of the bed. He snatched one of Stiles’ shirts off the back of his desk chair and wriggled into it. It barely fit over his massive shoulders, stretching at the seams. Stiles boggled at the fit, Derek’s muscles practically tearing his shirt. He made a truly horrifying noise, and Derek glared at him.

Stiles grabbed up his shoes and hopped into them. On his way to the door he grabbed the arrow and stuck it inside a long parchment tube. Would probably _not_ be a good thing to be seen wandering around with a crossbow bolt. Derek followed him out of the room barefoot, as his shoes were back in the Preserve. Something for Stiles to think about for the next moon.

Rickonson Hall was very close to the medical building, and Derek and Stiles made the journey quickly. Ms McCall let them into Scott’s room with a wan smile. She looked like she hadn't slept. Scott sat up in his hospital bed and waved at Stiles.

Stiles pulled away from Derek and launched himself onto the bed. Scott grabbed him tight and held on, and Stiles buried his face in Scott’s shoulder. They spent precious breaths hugging the shit out of each other, and when Stiles pulled back Scott gave him a loopy grin. “I got shot with an arrow!”

“Oh my god.” Stiles hung his head. “That is not something to be excited about.”

“It was pretty awesome. Deaton was totally badass,” Scott said. He pulled the hem of his shirt up, revealing bandages strapped to his midriff. “I got silver poisoning.”

“Scott, please stop talking,” Stiles said. “Please.”

Scott grinned over his head. “Hey Derek. Sorry about last night. Thanks for helping Stiles.”

Derek shrugged, apparently struck mute in the presence of another person. Stiles swung the parchment tube between him and Scott, and twisted it open. Scott’s eyes went wide when the arrow slid out onto white sheets. “Derek got hit last night, too,” Stiles said.

Scott picked up the arrow and peered at the head. “That’s the same thing on Allison’s necklace.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped. He opened his mouth but was cut off by the door banging open. Laura burst into the room and swept Derek into a bone-crushing hug. Derek melted against her with a restrained gasp. Stiles averted his eyes, trying to give them some privacy.

“Do not ever do something like that again.” Laura hissed, her voice muffled in Derek’s shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I had to protect-”

“The squishy human, I know.” Laura pulled back and smiled at her brother through happy tears. “You mentioned it once or twice.”

Stiles watched the tips of Derek’s ears turn red, and stifled a laugh. Laura left her brother to join Stiles on Scott’s mattress. She leaned into him and grinned. “Glad you’re not too injured.”

“Thanks to you,” Stiles said. He held up the arrow. “Does this look familiar to you?”

Laura turned the arrow over in her hands and frowned at it. “That’s the Argent’s family crest, or, a simplified version of it. It must have been them shooting at us last night.”

“It would follow,” Stiles said. Laura shook her head.

“The Principal is furious. Apparently someone broke into his rooms last night and stole some of his equipment.” Laura waved the arrow. “It’s possible these were the stolen items.”

“Or he’s trying to cover for himself,” Stiles said. “Most hunters won’t go after nonlethal creatures. You and Derek are clearly nonlethal. Scott, here, on the other hand…”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Scott said. His face twisted in distress. Stiles squeezed his thigh.

“Relax, buddy. We’ll get the potion right. And until then, Laura and Derek are here.”

“We won’t let you hurt anyone,” Laura said. She smiled warmly and handed the arrow back to Stiles. Standing, she reached into her pocket and drew Derek’s concealment charm. She tossed it at him. “Here, bro.”

He checked the ceramic piece and slid it back onto his wrist. Some of the tension released from his shoulders, and Stiles felt himself settle in response. He slid the arrow back into the parchment tube. It wouldn’t be wise to carry around weapons openly in general, and especially if Grandpa Argent was on the warpath. Just in time, too, as Ms McCall breezed into the room, smiling.

“Stiles, how are you?” she asked.

“Great. Perfect, fine. Excellent,” Stiles said. He jumped off Scott’s bed as she drew near. Ms McCall checked Scott over and ruffled his hair when she was finished.

“Good to go, son. Laura, would you mind walking him back to his dorm?” Ms McCall asked.

“Sure thing, Melissa,” Laura said with a smile. She helped Scott slide out of the hospital bed. Scott hugged his mother, and she swatted him to encourage him to move.

“You need a shower, son. Go on, now.”

“Who’s going with Stiles?” Scott asked, turning towards him once in the hall. Derek slotted himself into the space at Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’ll make sure he gets back to his hall,” he said.

Scott’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and Stiles didn’t really have anything to say. He needed the escort, and Derek had the concealment charm. It worked well enough for him. “We’ll start study group tomorrow, again. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” Scott said. Laura started towards the exit, and Scott trailed after her, starting up some small talk.

“Thanks,” Stiles said. Derek shrugged and said nothing. “You don’t have to. My Hall is right there.”

“I said I would,” Derek said. He nodded towards the exit.

The walk back was awkward. When they reached the front stairs to Rickonson Hall, Stiles blurted out an invitation up to his room which Derek accepted, and that was how Stiles found himself sitting against his bed with Derek next to him. He held a book open in his lap, flipping through instructions for the beginning stages of the Animagus transformation.

He closed his eyes to picture one of the steps, and opened them when a sharp pain twinged in his neck. He jerked, and realised the world was sideways.

Flailing, he dumped the book out of his lap and slipped sideways. Derek jumped, and Stiles landed right in his lap, staring up at him in horror.

“Oh my god, did I fall asleep on you?” Stiles asked, his voice a squeak.

Derek shrugged and rubbed his eyes. “You need the rest.”

“You don’t have to- Oh god, did I drool on you!?” Stiles shoved himself upright and practically pressed his face to Derek’s shoulder, which was apparently his impromptu pillow. No signs of death-inducing embarrassment, thankfully. “Dude. Wake me up next time!”

“It’s fine.” Derek shifted uneasily under the scrutiny. He picked up Stiles’ tossed book and handed it to him. “I should go.”

“Do you want-” Stiles burst out before he could stop himself. He jazzed-hands. “Dinner? Or- I could sneak some food up from the commons. You don’t have to go-”

He was cut off by Derek’s mouth. Pressed against his. Stopping him. Talking. Not talking.

Stiles short-circuited, frozen in place with wide eyes. Derek was super close. His forehead was everything Stiles could see, and his eyelashes were so long and fine and he was so, so very close-

Derek broke the kiss, drawing back and opening his gorgeous, illegally beautiful, immaterially colourful eyes, and stark panic flashed across his face. Stiles’ breath squeezed out of him in a horrified wheeze, and Derek pushed himself up, away from Stiles, and Stiles was very much not okay with this turn of events, but Derek was already at the window- opening the window- and then he was gone.

Stiles forced himself to inhale, and lunged for the windowsill. He leaned over the edge and bellowed. “I hate you!”

 

 

 

Stiles glared sullenly at the bubbling, clear water in the cauldron in front of him. He was not looking at Derek, who was at his normal spot by the window. He was not looking at Lydia, who stared openly at him since realising he and Derek weren’t talking. And he was definitely not looking at Scott and Allison making out by the door.

Jesus.

“Stiles!”

Kira lurched forward, and Stiles jerked away. The cauldron was bubbling over, spilling onto the books and floor. Stiles swore and shoved the cauldron off the fire to stop the bubble. Lydia pursed her lips, and very carefully did not eviscerate him. It was early in the potion process, they could afford to start over with what he’d messed up.

“Stiles, go to study hall,” Lydia said. Stiles looked at her and his shoulders slumped. He grabbed his things and stood, shoving them into his bag as he walked.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Allison shove at Scott, push him to his feet. Scott staggered after Stiles and slipped into the hall after him. “Hey, are you okay?”

Stiles heaved a massive sigh and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah. Fine.”

Scott looked unconvinced. His eyes cut to the side, deeper into the basement, before returning to Stiles. “You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said. He shifted uneasily. “It’s just been a long couple of days. I know I don’t turn into a giant fuzzy ball of death at the full moon, but I’m tired.”

“You’re putting a lot of effort into this,” Scott said. He lowered his voice, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “You’ve put more work into this than anyone. It’s okay to be tired, man.”

“Did Allison put you up to this?” Stiles asked. Scott frowned.

“No. I’ve never seen you mess up a potion before. Not that bad, anyway. And not when you weren’t doing anything except stare at the cauldron.” Scott shook his head with a gentle smile. “It’s okay to take a break.”

“Yeah.” Stiles fixed his eyes on the door behind Scott and sighed. “Yeah.”

“Do you hear that?” Scott cocked his head. He stared down the hall again, into the darkness of the basement. Stiles didn’t remember ever seeing any signs of life from that end. The stairwell beside them went up, towards the lit halls of the first floor.

Stiles turned back to Scott to find him wandering towards the shadows. He jumped at Scott and grabbed his arm. “Whoa. Remember how that went down last time. Mauling. Near death. Not fun.”

“I think I hear voices,” Scott said. He kept walking forward, and Stiles let himself be led, his grip firm in Scott’s jacket.

As they walked, torches flared to life along the walls on either side of them. The light illuminated a long, narrow hall with no other doors branching off it. Just the girl’s bathroom at the foot of the stairs. And the hallway continued for a truly creeptastic length, until Scott paused.

“It’s getting louder,” he said. “Do you still not hear it?”

“The only thing I hear is my panicked breathing,” Stiles said. “And how light our steps are because we are not fit to be fighting anything at this stage in our lives.”

“I just have to figure out what that noise is,” Scott said. He took another step and slammed into a wall in front of him. Stiles yanked him backwards, and Scott rubbed his nose. “Ow.”

Stiles pressed both hands to the door. It felt solid. Solid enough to smack Scott in the face. He found the knob and pushed. The door was heavy, and he had to set his shoulder against it to force it to give. As the door swung open, torches around the room flared.

The room was circular, all of the light providing a haunting contrast to a gigantic, dead tree stump set in the centre of the floor. Concrete and linoleum had been built around it, but decades ago as evidenced by roots cracking through the surface. Scott pressed a hand to his head.

“You still don’t hear that?”

“I only hear you, man,” Stiles said. He inched closer to the tree, insatiable curiosity taking over. “Why is there a massive tree in the basement of our school?”

“Trees soak up magical energy. Why do you think wands are cut from them?” Scott asked. He winced, staying against the wall.

“Because it’s easy to pick up a stick and wave it around?” Stiles rounded the stump. “Also, holy knowledge drop, Batman. Have you been, like, studying?”

“Lydia doesn’t 'brew wolfsbane for failures',” Scott said in a dejected voice, quoting someone. He rubbed his ear, as if banishing a phantom pain.

“Point.” Stiles smirked. At least someone was able to help him get his grades up on his own. “But again, why is it in the basement? Why isn’t it, outside, like a normal tree?”

“And why is it chanting?” Scott asked. Stiles lifted his gaze and saw a table sitting against the wall. “And what is all that stuff?”

Stiles trotted to the table and took in the items on it. “It looks like your typical hostage scenario set up. Rope, mountain ash, veratiserum. Knives. Lots of knives. Very sharp.”

He joined Scott against the wall. “No axes though. I don’t think this is our killer’s hide out.”

“I should hope not,” Scott said. “This is our school. I don’t want an axe murderer living here.”

“I don’t think he would want to live here either, Scotty.” Stiles clapped Scott’s shoulders with both hands. “Let’s get you away from the singing tree stump, okay?”

“Aren’t you worried about it?” Scott asked as Stiles steered him out the door and back into the hall.

“As long as the singing tree trunk is not actively trying to eat me, I am not worried about it,” Stiles said. He pushed Scott towards the stairwell up.

They pushed through the double doors at the top of the stairs and a woman’s voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Hey boys, what were you doing in the basement?”

Stiles turned to see Ms Argent leering at them, her arms over her chest. Stiles gaped, opening and closing his mouth while he fumbled for an answer.

“Rat. _Cat_! I thought I saw a cat go down there. I didn’t want any of the students to miss their pet. But, there was no cat, so it worked out.” Stiles shrugged. “Unless it just vanished. Which wouldn’t be that odd considering it is a magical school, but cats don’t normally have magical power unless they’re an Animagus, oh my god, do you think we have an Animagus on campus? That would be amazing. I heard it takes a really long time to learn how to do that-”

“Stiles!” Ms Argent interrupted him with a hand over his face. “Don’t go down there again. And stop talking.”

She walked away without giving them detention, or any other punishment, and Scott turned wondering eyes to Stiles. Stiles shrugged, pleased with himself. “It’s a talent.”

“You’re amazing, dude.” Scott threw his arm over Stiles’ shoulder and they walked to study hall together.

 

 

 

When Stiles’ window slid open that night in the middle of his Potions homework (six page essay on ginger root, seriously, Harris, seriously), Stiles grunted. “Go away. I’m not talking to you.”

“You just talked to me.” Derek’s voice hovered in the window, waiting for permission like the awkward dork he was.

Stiles spun in his chair and sighed. “How do you even get up here? No, really. I can’t figure it out.”

Derek took that as permission, and stepped fully into Stiles’ room. He shut the window and shifted in place. “Look, about what happened-”

“Which part, the part where you kissed me, or the part where you fucking ran away after?” Stiles gritted his teeth and fiddled with his pen. He spun around on his chair for something to do, to take his mind off his mouth. “Because you were the one who kissed me, dude. Normal people don’t run away after that. It’s not like I did the kissing.”

“Stop saying that word.”

“What?” Stiles spun to a stop. “Kiss? That’s what it was. You had your mouth on mine. You kissed me.”

Derek looked sick and furious at the same time, his insanely expressive brows furrowed low over the bridge of his nose. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Wow okay. Sure, let me just rescind my first kiss memory, then.” He had to work to form his mouth around the words, being mean for the hell of it, because Derek's words punched the air out of him. He reveled in making Derek wince, he was feeling that petty. “No big.”

Silence settled between them, hot and uncomfortable, until Stiles took pity on Derek. He sighed heavily and messed with the pen on his desk. “Your mom was Principal before, right?”

Derek jerked, as if he had been stung, and nodded tightly.

“Do you know why there’s a huge tree stump in the basement?”

Like a switch flipping, Derek’s expression hardened. “How do you know about that?”

“Scott said he heard chanting, so we followed it and this room opened up in the basement. Down the hall from the girl’s restroom.” Stiles resumed spinning in his chair, swallowing hard against the hurt in his chest.

“That door is under an enchantment. Nobody should be able to find it,” Derek said.

“Well, the enchantment was broken,” Stiles said. “And someone is planning on doing untoward things down there, if the stuff is anything to go by. There were knives, mountain ash, and rope. A criminal set up. Definitely up to no good.”

Derek sank onto Stiles’ bed and stared at the window for so long Stiles thought he fell asleep with his eyes open. He was about to go poke him when Derek turned. “I think I know what’s going on.”

“Care to enlighten the rest of us non-wolfy heathens?” Stiles asked. Derek scowled at him and stood. He started pacing, unconsciously falling in line with Stiles’ own pacing floor groove.

“The stump is what’s left of the Nemeton, a massive magical energy source for this region. It was cut down because it was attracting too many dark creatures to the site. That’s why the town is called Beacon Hills. The Nemeton was a beacon for magical creatures. Unfortunately most of them were dangerous to the humans and wizards living in town.” Derek folded his arms over his incredible chest. “It was cut down, and the school built around it to contain and distribute any lingering power. I think someone is trying to revive it.”

“How does one revive an ancient magical beaconing tree?” Stiles asked.

“Blood ritual,” Derek said. “The blood of an alpha werewolf with no pack allegiances.”

“Alpha? You guys follow a ranking system?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged.

“Laura is my alpha. She’s Scott’s by default, too,” Derek said. “It passed to her when my mother-”

Stiles gripped his pen hard. When his mother died. Derek cleared his throat and went on.

“They’re in charge of making sure everyone is safe on the full moon. Most alphas have safe houses built on their land for the full moon, and Aurors on staff to help with containment. Betas report to the alpha, and omegas are the ones you hear about in the news. Biting people. Turning them.” He hesitated. “Killing.”

“So Laura is their endgame,” Stiles said, his voice quiet. “But they have to kill you and Scott first.”

“It explains the accidents. The shooting.” Derek spread his hands helplessly. “But why would anyone want to wake the Nemeton?”

“It’s a source of power.” Stiles leaned back in his chair. “And, if it’s as powerful as you say, the real question is why hasn’t anyone tried before now?”

“Because my family-” Derek cut himself off, his eyes going wide.

“Your family protected it,” Stiles finished for him. It was the Argents. There was no doubt about it. But how could Stiles prove it? There was nothing linking the Argents to the fire, and even the arrowheads were tenuous at best. Grandpa Argent hollered bloody murder all day again about his hunting stash, and thieves in the school. He’d be able to deny any contact with the arrowheads if it came down to it.

Stiles had to talk to Allison. Away from Scott. He loved Scott, but they were too distracted together. He caught Derek’s eye, and saw him come to the same conclusion.

“She’s in your Hall,” Stiles said.

“I can’t talk to her alone,” Derek said. His fists clenched at his sides. “My head’s not clear enough.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I can come with you, creeper wolf.”

Derek startled and tipped his head, confused. “But-”

“Yeah, I’m pissed at you. But that doesn’t mean I want you to die. And I definitely don’t want Scott to die. So whatever I have to do to prevent that, I’m going to do,” Stiles said. He narrowed his eyes at Derek. “You’ve never had anyone help you without wanting something.”

Derek met his eyes, saying nothing, but Stiles knew. He recognised the resignation in the set of Derek’s shoulders.

“Okay, well, I do want you to do something for me. Or keep doing something. I want you to keep protecting Scott,” Stiles said. “That’s it.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, trying to fathom Stiles. “I don’t understand you.”

“Not many do, don’t worry.” Stiles spun in a slow circle on his chair. “I’ve got your back, dude. So, did you come here for a reason or are we just picking up the creepy stalker wolf thing again?”

“I remembered something I read about this guy in London, an unregistered Animagus. Sirius Black. His form was a giant black dog,” Derek said.

Stiles tried valiantly to stop the bark of laughter that erupted. “Oh my god. You’re not even trying. You are a gold mine, dude.”

Derek pressed his lips together, gathering his patience before he spoke again. “Rumour has it he learned while he was in school, with a group of his friends. I just thought you might like a lead.”

“There’s precedence, then,” Stiles said. “So it can be done.”

“It’s not impossible,” Derek said. “It’s just arduous. Most wizards don’t want to invest the time or effort. The transformation itself doesn’t look that difficult. I think the hardest part will be determining your animal, and learning the anatomy. It’s just a lot of memorisation.”

“Good thing I have a pedantic memory then,” Stiles said.

“Eidetic memory,” Derek corrected with a smirk.

“Whatever,” Stiles said. He scratched down Sirius Black’s name on a notebook page. “How did you find out about that?”

"I was..." Derek hesitated. "I was looking up what werewolves could do once they graduated. A lot of them go to Muggle college, if they can keep their condition under control. Black became an Animagi because his friend was a werewolf."

"You want to go to Muggle college?" Stiles asked. He paused his spinning, curious about this new bit of information. "What would you do in Muggle college?"

He looked like he was about to shrug, but halted the motion and said, "Write? I don't know. It's stupid."

"Hey, that's not stupid. You like writing?" Stiles found himself leaning forward in his chair. Unable to stop his curiosity from taking over.

"I like books. And reading." Derek gestured helplessly to the shelves of books lining Stiles' bed. Silence descended, unbearably awkward, and Stiles fidgeted in his chair.

Finally, Derek shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. He stalked to the window and threw it open. Stiles sighed.

“Hey.”

Derek paused, halfway out already, and glanced at him.

“We’re cool, okay?” Stiles said. He spun his pen between his fingers. “So try not to be awkward. It’s okay.”

Derek nodded sharply and disappeared out the window. Stiles swallowed hard and turned back to his homework, trying to recover from the stupid hope that Derek was different.

 

 

 

“What are you reading?” Scott asked, leaning over his shoulder. Stiles tugged the book away, hugging it to his chest.

“Homework. Boring homework. Go away, you smell like dog.”

“You’re so mean,” Scott said. He acquiesced, though, and sprawled on the floor of the bathroom. He held a book over his face and pretended to study.

“Scott.” Allison broke the contemplative silence. She fiddled with her amulet. “Are you the werewolf?”

The silence turned tense, and Scott pushed himself upright. He chuckled uneasily. “No?”

“That doesn’t sound convincing,” Allison said. Her voice was a whisper over the bubbling of the cauldron. “Tell me the truth. Are you the werewolf?”

Scott shot a horrified look at Stiles, who could only shrug. Scott winced and said, “Yes.”

Allison dropped the pendant against her chest and folded her hands in her lap. She clenched her fists until her knuckles were white. “Were you at the Hale House last full moon?”

Scott’s expression of unease disappeared. His face set into something harder. “Were you?”

“You were the one shooting at us,” Derek said from his place at the window. Stiles wanted to hit him for being so dense, but Derek’s face was a mask of righteous fury, and Stiles was inclined to let him have this one. They had been seriously hurt that night. All of them.

“I thought the human was in danger,” Allison said. She set her shoulders stiffly against the wall. “It was one human and three wolves, and it looked like the human was running for his life. I acted.”

“You could have killed us,” Derek said. His teeth bared in a snarl, and a trick of the light made his eyes flash.

“I was trying to help,” Allison said. Her voice shook but she held her chin up. “I thought I was saving someone. My aunt-”

“Kate was there too?” Derek snapped out. Allison jumped at the tone.

“Of course she was. She’s training me,” Allison said. “We thought you might have been the ones murdering students. We only shot at the humanoid wolf. We’d never hunt a born wolf, I know they keep their sanity on the full moon-”

“My family was human when your aunt burned the house down around them.” Derek’s voice rang against the tiled walls, shuddering around them and freezing deep into Stiles’ bones. Derek looked horrified by his own outburst, and stormed across their work area. He flung the door open and slammed it shut so hard the bathroom stalls rattled.

Stiles dragged in a deep breath of stagnant air. Allison’s face was white, and Scott didn’t look much better.

Stiles pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll go after him.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped over Scott to make his way out of the girl’s restroom. He closed the door behind him to find Cora hovering over Derek, who had his face pressed to the wall, cradled in one arm. Stiles moved to Derek's other side and leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Stiles asked softly. He pressed his head to the cool wall, and the pressure helped soothe the headache forming.

“I killed my family,” Derek said. The words were forced out.

“I really, really doubt that is what actually happened,” Stiles said. He didn’t need Cora shaking her ghostly head to confirm it. Sierras would never destroy something precious to them. It was against their nature. “Tell me what really happened. You called her Kate. Do you know Allison’s aunt well?”

“I thought I was in love.”

Stiles felt ice slide through his guts as pieces began to fall into place. He swallowed hard, voice sticking. “Derek, how old were you?”

Derek’s hands clenched into fists, his entire body one long, stiff line of tension. “Fifteen.”

Stiles closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths. His brain raced with possibilities, and none of them were even close to being okay. He wasn’t equipped to handle this. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to reach out, provide comfort, but Derek’s’ body language held him back.

He settled on, “You don’t have to go back, today. It’s okay. They’ll understand.”

Derek didn’t move, save the line of his shoulders, jerking with each rasping breath.

“Do you… need to be alone?” Stiles asked. He resolutely ignored Cora shaking her head furiously. Derek said nothing. “You gotta use your words, sour wolf. I’m not very good at Divination.”

Derek released a broken chuckle. “I don’t think that would be a good idea right now.”

“Well. Um, I can call Boyd. Or I can get Kira to walk you back to yours. You can come with me, if you want. I’m just going to be researching Animagi. You can sleep. Or howl at the moon, or whatever…” Stiles trailed off.

“We don’t howl at the moon, Stiles.” At least it didn’t sound like Derek was going to break anymore. That was just exasperation, right there.

“You howl at the sky, where the moon happens to be,” Stiles said. “Come on. We have some teachers to sneak past.”

Derek’s concealment charm got them out of the education building and into Rickonson Hall without much issue. Stiles dropped his bag on the floor of his room and Derek wandered in behind him, probably shocked and awed at using the door for once.

His eyes caught on Stiles’ Quidditch gear, and he meandered over to it, prodding the bag of pads with curiosity. “You’re on the team?”

“Sort of. I keep the bench warm. Very important job. Winners love warm benches.” Stiles slumped into his desk chair and flipped open the book he had been perusing before breakfast that morning.

Derek dropped the pads back into the bag and turned to him. “You can fly like that and they keep you on the bench?”

“What can I say?” Stiles gestured to himself. “They can’t handle… this.”

Derek frowned, like it personally offended him that Stiles wasn’t first string. Which, weird. Lots of people weren’t first string. There were a ton of people better than Stiles at flying and playing. Besides, Stiles had been on the bench his whole life. Didn’t matter what sport.

Derek sat on Stiles’ bed and let his eyes wander the room. His gazed passed over a box on Stiles’ dresser, and Stiles got an idea. He jumped up and snapped the lid open on the box. Rummaging through the truly random assortment of items, he yanked out two warped coins. He held them triumphantly in front of his face as he turned to Derek.

“When Scott and I used to go on our adventures around campus, we used these. If you squeeze one, the other starts to heat up, and it alerts the carrier that something is happening. It only works if your lookout is actually paying attention, though, which Scott failed on all accounts. But.” Stiles dropped to his knees next to Derek and held one out for him to take. Derek plucked the coin from his fingers and stared at it. “If you ever need a rescue, like in class, or in the halls, or on the pitch. Squeeze it. I’ll keep the other one. I can talk my way out of any situation. It’s a talent. My dad says it’s a curse.”

Derek clenched the coin in a fist, and Stiles’ responded by heating up. Not to the point of scalding, just beyond the scope of human body temperature. Stiles realised Derek didn’t even know what he was doing, and waved his coin. “It still works, good job.”

Derek opened his fist with a surprised snort. The coin didn’t look any different than a regular quarter, just had a slight warp to it rendering it useless as legal tender. He met Stiles’ eyes, helpless confusion tightening his expression. “Why?”

“Because sometimes, even big, brawny werewolves need someone in their corner. Because I know what it’s like to feel helpless about your situation.” Stiles forced himself to hold Derek’s gaze and not fidget. “With this, you might still feel helpless, but you won’t be powerless. Even though she’s a teacher. My distractions are amazing. Remember the flying piglets?”

Derek nodded wordlessly.

“Those were totally my fault,” Stiles said. He grinned.

Derek finally cracked a smile, and Stiles considered it a win, even if it vanished shortly after. “Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

“When you’re ready, you’ll tell me.” Stiles shrugged. He twisted his fingers together, skin pulling tight until it went white from lack of blood. “Or not. You’re not the only one with tragedy, dude. I watched my mom literally go crazy and die. I still have my dad, but I know what it’s like to lose your family.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek’s eyes pinched at the corners, and his lips pulled into a thin line. “I didn’t know.”

“Well it’s not like I broadcast it,” Stiles said. He shrugged. “Nobody needs to know. It’s mine. I don’t want the whole world staring at me even more than they already do.”

“If they stare at you, it’s because you amaze them,” Derek said, and his voice was so earnest, so incredibly sincere, that Stiles burst out laughing. Derek frowned, irritated, and Stiles almost fell over in an attempt to stop. “I’m serious, Stiles. Has no one told you how incredible you are?”

“Whatever, dude. Lay down before you hurt yourself.” Stiles shoved Derek and got to his feet. He threw himself back into his desk chair and glared at the book spread on the desk, willing its contents to magically impart into his brain.

A hand at the back of his chair forced him to turn. Stiles found himself eye to eye with Derek. “Look. I’m not… good with words. But you said that you’d believe I should live, enough for the both of us. Let me. For you.”

“Stop.” Stiles whispered, unable to breathe with Derek so very close to him. Derek’s eyes crinkled in confusion.

“Stop what?”

“Stop making me trust you.” Stiles didn’t understand how his voice could be so steady when his body shook so badly. Derek said nothing, his eyes fixed on Stiles’ lips, and to this day Stiles doesn’t remember who moved first, but the next thing he knew Derek was crowding him up against the desk, their mouths locked together.

The edge of the desk dug into his back as Derek arched him over it, but Stiles didn’t care. He twisted his fingers in the front of Derek’s shirt, dragging him closer. When he wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, Derek hauled him- literally- off the chair into the air. And holy shit was carrying him towards the bed like the mountain man he was.

Derek leaned over the mattress and deposited Stiles very carefully atop the sheets, like he was breakable and something to be handled with care. Stiles caught Derek’s jaw between both hands and dragged him in for another burning kiss, panting and breathing each other’s air.

Derek kissed like he wanted to savour every wretched gasp out of Stiles’ chest, and it was overwhelming. The sheer heat of his body pressing Stiles into the mattress set a fire under Stiles’ skin that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to put out, and he needed to be closer. He slid his fingers through Derek’s hair, and Derek answered by lowering his body, pressing flush against Stiles’ chest and groin. Stiles broke the kiss with a whimper, coiled heat rolling through his gut. “Oh my god.”

Jeans were a bad choice today.

Derek pulled back, staring at him with wide eyes. Stiles felt the moment he tensed up, every delicious muscle pressed against Stiles’ scrawny body. Stiles grabbed the front of his shirt, desperate to prevent another run for the window. “Hey. Hey. Easy there, big guy.”

Sure enough, Derek jerked back, stopped only by Stiles’ insistent fist. He dipped his head to glare at Stiles’ hand, betrayed.

“Talk to me.” Stiles futilely tried to ignore his dick pressing against the inseam of his ridiculously uncomfortable jeans. He tugged on Derek’s shirt. “Hey.”

“I-I can’t,” Derek ground out.

“If I let go, are you gonna run?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head.

Stiles untwisted his fingers and they both sat up, straightening their shirts awkwardly. “I know this isn’t about me, but right now, it really feels like it’s about me.”

“You’re fifteen, Stiles.” Derek refused to look at him, his face pale.

“Yeah, so? I know what a dick is,” Stiles said, a little too sharply. He regretted it when Derek winced and turned further away. And then Stiles remembered that Derek had been fifteen. “Oh. Shit.”

Derek had thought he was in love. He knew Kate on a first name basis. He had been fifteen.

Kate had fucked him.

And then murdered his entire family for it.

Stiles exhaled slowly, the breath shuddering out of him as everything finally clicked into place. He cupped his jaw in both hands, leaning on his knees. Boner gone. Replaced with sheer amazement that this boy next to him was still walking. Still upright, still fighting with everything he had against the monster that still haunted him.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, breaking the silence. “I know what I want. But if you’re not ready, we don’t have to. It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. It really, really wasn’t okay that the woman who had done this was still out there. Unpunished.

Chewing on his lower lip, he said, “This is going to sound dorky. But, would it be okay if I held your hand?”

Derek looked at him, uncomprehending.

“I want to comfort you, but I don’t know how okay you are with physical contact,” Stiles said. He flipped his hand palm up between them. “And I don’t want you to run away from me again. You’re gonna give a guy a complex.”

Derek snorted, shook his head, and clasped his hand to Stiles’. His hand was stupidly warm in Stiles’, and the heat suffused Stiles’ body. It would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	9. Animagus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A little birdy told me that you’ve been snooping around in the basement,” Gerard said, when he was finished. He crouched in front of Stiles, disappointment turning his lips down. “Students aren’t supposed to be wandering around in the basement. It’s off limits for a reason, Stilinski.”

Lydia found them bent over a textbook later that evening, after dinner. She didn’t knock, just burst into the room like she owned it. It was possible she did. She paused in the doorway. “Oh good. I thought you two would be fucking. We have work to do.”

Stiles flushed clear to the tips of his ears, and choked on his own spit as Lydia ignored him. She dropped her bag on the floor opposite them and sat down. She dragged out a textbook and set it between them. “We restarted the potion, and shifts are going into effect tomorrow again. I expect you both to pick up your respective shifts without further issues.”

“It’s fine, we’ll be there,” Stiles said. He toed Lydia’s book. “What’s that?”

“Animal anatomy for beginners,” Lydia said. “We’re going to figure out what our Animagi form is tonight. And we start researching tomorrow.”

Stiles groaned and let his head fall against his bed. He kind of had homework to do. Not that he would be sleeping tonight, but it was nice to at least have the option. Something clicked, and Stiles jumped when a bulb of fire snapped into existence in Lydia’s hand. “Lydia! What are you doing?”

“We’re going to use astral projection to figure out the animal form. Sort of.” Lydia touched the flames to an incense stick. The smell of sandalwood immediately filled the air. Derek got up to crack the window so they didn’t suffocate. Stiles watched her set the stick into a holder and push it to the side. “It’s less Divination and more exploration of your inner self. Ms Morrell mentioned this technique in class the other day. I looked it up, and it looks promising. Ready?”

“Right now?” Stiles flailed. “I’m not dressed for walking on the astral plane!”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Stiles, it’s just meditation. Now sit up straight and give me both your hands.”

Stiles crossed his legs and grasped Lydia’s hands. He tried to sit up straight, as straight as he could, and rolled his head to loosen his neck and shoulders. Derek was a solid presence beside him, quiet and intent. Lydia tightened her grip on his hands and whispered a few words under her breath.

Stiles closed his eyes and it felt like the floor dropped out from under him.

He fell, soaring through a starry sky until his body righted itself and his feet touched something firm. Like a floor. Ground to stand on. He couldn’t exactly see it, though. A star bridge. Essentially. He felt light. Like gravity here was different. Which, it was. He wasn’t in his body. Presumably. He really should have gotten more information before letting Lydia do this to him.

Too late now.

Stiles started forward, enjoying the sort of hop step required to move in a lighter gravitational field. It felt cool, like he was on another planet. Something flickered out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned he saw nothing but more starry fields. And whoa. He was glowing.

Awesome.

He expected the inside of his head to be filled with noise, light, and endless scene changes. It was nice to know that it was serene, and calm. Something he rarely felt.

Something flashed near him again, and he paused, not looking at it, but waiting to see what the flash would do. A flicker of light burst in front of his face, and then darted in circles around him. He didn’t move, waiting for the light to settle. It did, coming to a halt at his feet.

When he crouched and extended a hand to it, the light coalesced into a shape.

A fox.

Of course.

Light exploded in his eyes, and he jerked back, flailing. Arms grasped his shoulders, shaking him. He swatted at them in irritation, and blinked. He opened his eyes to see Lydia and Derek hovering over him. He was on his back on the floor of his room, Derek practically in his lap. He glanced between them. “What?”

“You were out for almost two hours,” Lydia said. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I thought something went wrong.”

“No. I think it worked, actually. Kira was right. It’s a fox,” Stiles said. He grabbed Dereks’ outstretched hand and let himself be tugged upright. “Looked like a normal, forest fox.”

Lydia was already flipping through the anatomy book, and she practically shoved a page in his face. “This one?”

“Yeah, that one.” Stiles stared at it. Kit fox. _Vulpes macrotis_.

Lydia grinned, baring teeth. “My turn.”

Derek handled her meditation, because apparently he knew a little bit of the process. Lydia slipped under, and Stiles started going over the various features of the kit fox. It took Lydia a little less than two hours, because she was a show off, and when she woke she positively glowed.

“Nighthawk,” she said. She twisted her hair into a messy bun and dragged another book out of her bag. She flipped it open and began memorising the details of her Animagus form.

Stiles knew he fell asleep on the floor, because he clearly remembered thinking how soft the linoleum had gotten in the span of an hour, but when he woke he found himself on the bed. Lydia curled next to him, textbook still clutched tight in her hands. Stiles stifled a giggle, and rolled over to find Derek leaning against the bed, his head tipped sideways in sleep.

Having Scott as a friend had always been amazing. Scott was undyingly loyal, incredibly poignant about certain things, and would do anything to help a brother out. But this, waking up to Lydia on one side and Derek on his other after a full night of productive, hands on research… This was something different. This was satisfaction, deep in his core.

He couldn’t help himself, and reached to curl his fingers in the fluffy hair at the back of Derek’s head. Derek grunted, and shifted. He woke, turning sleep-fuzzy eyes to Stiles. Stiles grinned the dumbest grin in the history of dumb grins, and said, “Hey.”

“I figured you wanted Lydia in the bed,” Derek said. He nodded at her, saying nothing about Stiles’ hand on his neck. “And you both fit, so…”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Stiles didn’t feel like moving. He didn’t want to ruin this moment. This one, intense feeling of belonging that had escaped him most of his life.

Too late. Lydia shifted, disturbed by their talking. She buried her face in Stiles’ shoulder. “If there is not coffee in my hand in five minutes I will murder everyone in this building.”

And that was his cue. He pushed himself up out of the warm nest of blankets, and slipped shoes on. He was to the commons and back before the five minute deadline, and returned to find Derek had coaxed her into an upright position. She grabbed at the coffee mug and drank while Stiles showered.

Stiles busied himself cleaning up from their adventures last night, and packed his bag for class. Lydia vanished to shower, unperturbed by using another Hall’s showers for her own. Though they were probably her showers. Or, her family’s anyway. And apparently she had no problem walking back to the room wearing nothing but a towel. She also, apparently had no problem rummaging through Stiles’ drawers for something to wear. And was putting on Stiles’ clothes.

And wearing Stiles’ clothes. Wearing them right out the door, with her bag slung over her shoulder, heels poking out the bottom of his jeans. His jeans.

“Hey.” Derek snapped his fingers in front of Stiles’ face. “We’re going to be late.”

Stiles jerked. He scowled and slammed his backpack over his shoulder. “Your face is late.”

He didn’t wait to see if Derek was behind him. They traipsed down the stairs and into bright, morning sunlight. They didn’t talk as they made their way to the education building, but as soon as Stiles set foot in the hall he was slammed against the wall, a forearm against his sternum.

His head cracked against the wall, and Jackson was in his face. “What were you doing with my girlfriend last night?”

“Hey, ease up, Whittemore.” Derek’s arm was between them, trying to create a barrier.

“Not until this loser tells me why Lydia is walking around in his fucking shirt.” Jackson’s teeth bared viciously.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Derek said. He gripped the front of Jackson’s shirt in one hand, a warning.

“I’m wearing his shirt because I didn’t have a change of clothes.” Lydia stormed up to them, her face a mask of righteous fury. Stiles squirmed in Jackson’s hold, the urge to run rising in him. “Is that a problem?”

“You spent the night with this asshole?” Jackson exploded.

“He is helping me with the project that you refused to, so get off.” Lydia formed her words through gritted teeth, well aware of the attention they were drawing.

“I’m not going to let him go when you’re walking around in his clothes!” Jackson pressed harder on Stiles’ chest, forcing the air out of him. Derek’s hand tightened, ready for violence.

“I didn’t bring a change. Jesus. Stiles, free up a drawer for my things.” Lydia cut in. She nailed Jackson with a hard look. “Is that better?”

“No!” Jackson and Stiles both gasped.

“Then help me with my project,” Lydia said. She gripped her books tightly across her chest.

Jackson glared at her, backed into a corner. He gave Stiles one last shove before pushing back from him. “Fine.”

Stiles wheezed, rubbing his chest as Jackson stalked away, disappearing into the crowd of students. Derek’s hand was tight on his arm, and Stiles glanced at Lydia to see a satisfied smirk on her lips. Horrified realisation dawned on Stiles. “Oh my god. Did you stay over just to make him jealous?”

She pressed her lips together. “It worked.”

Derek’s grip tightened on his arm. Stiles resisted the urge to lean into it. He said, “Please don’t drag me into this. Don’t do that again. Seriously low blow, Lydia.”

She shrugged, uninterested, and said, “I’ll see you for study group.”

She melted into the flow of students moving towards the first class of the day. Stiles rubbed his chest, unable to push out the hollow sensation that had settled there.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked. His grip burned Stiles’ arm.

Tugging free, Stiles nodded. He straightened his shirt and resettled his backpack over one shoulder. The first bell rang for class, and Stiles trotted away from Derek without looking back.

Study group was horrifyingly quiet that afternoon. Stiles kept to himself, forcing fox anatomy into his brain as fast as he could manage. Lydia kept her attention on the cauldron, with Kira at her side. Scott sat with Isaac, Allison noticeably absent.

Growing heat in his pocket made him jump, and he grabbed at the coin. Definitely hot.

He leaped to his feet and grabbed his bag. They didn’t need him today. If they really needed him at all, anymore.

He bolted from the girl’s bathroom without a word, and made his way up the stairs to the main hallway of the education building. He paused in the empty hall. During classes, there weren’t many students wandering around. He flipped the coin into the air and caught it in his palm. “ _Point me_.”

The coin lifted from his skin and hovered over his palm, vertical to the floor. The top leaned in the direction of the Potions classrooms, and Stiles jogged in that direction. He crested the stairs leading to the second floor to see Derek pressed against a wall with Ms Argent’s hand at his chest.

He caught Derek’s eye and nodded. Derek didn’t school his expression quickly enough, because Ms Argent turned and saw Stiles lurking in the hall. Understanding dawned across her face, and Stiles’ stomach dropped.

“Making friends, are we, Derek?” Ms Argent said in her honey-silk voice.

Stiles pushed away from the wall, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Actually I was sent to find you, Ms Argent. Someone accidentally set a boggart in the gym. Coach needs help containing it because he keeps seeing cougars. Hey Derek.”

He could tell Ms Argent didn’t believe him for a second. Her smile was thin and sly, and Stiles’ skin crawled as her eyes passed over him. She couldn’t afford to ignore his diversion, though, at risk of losing her status as a respected teacher. Her hand dropped from Derek’s chest, and she grinned at them both. “I guess I’ll have to go rescue him, then.”

She slunk away, sashaying down the stairs like she hadn’t just accosted a student. Stiles had to consciously repress the sheer tsunami of anger rising in him that she existed. When he turned to Derek, though, his anger vanished in a dizzying wave of concern.

Derek was shock-white, watching Stiles walk towards him like a man awaits an executioner. “N-No-” He bit out.

“Derek-” Stiles tried.

“Stay away from me,” Derek said. He pressed hard against the wall, chest heaving. “Don’t-”

“Calm down,” Stiles said. He took a step closer, one hand outstretched. “Hey, you with me, man?”

“Stiles-” Derek said his name, broken.

Stiles closed the distance between them, and twisted his fingers in Derek’s shirt at his waist. “It’s okay.”

Derek’s hands closed around his upper arms, squeezing to the point of pain. “She will kill you, Stiles.”

“My father works for the Bureau. She can’t touch me,” Stiles said. He tightened his grip. “I’ll be okay.”

“My mother was a well respected witch and principal of this school and Kate torched her.” Derek gave Stiles a shake. “I can’t have your blood on my hands.”

Stiles pressed Derek against the wall. “This is my choice. Whatever happens. It is my choice.”

Derek’s fingers pressed bruises into his arms. “I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice hoarse. Stiles’ heart cracked, distraught that anyone should ever have to sound like that. “You make me feel safe. You settle my- my wolf.”

Stiles processed this, a quiet calm suffusing his body. He held Derek’s gaze. “I don’t want to get hurt any more than you, okay? I promise I will be careful. But you’re stuck with me, now. And I need you to realise that. If she comes after me, we’ll cross that bridge when she starts burning it, okay?”

He instantly regretted his choice of words, god damn his lack of filter, but Derek didn’t notice, or didn’t react, anyway. Not that Derek could get any paler without passing out, but he just stared at Stiles, disbelief scrawled in his features. Stiles twisted his fingers in Derek’s shirt. “Can I hug you? You look like you need a good hug.”

The barest hint of a smile tipped Derek’s lips up, and he nodded. Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s neck and dragged him close. Derek tucked his face into Stiles’ neck and grabbed him, sliding thickly muscled arms around Stiles’ back, holding him just as tightly. Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair and breathed him in, his solid, steadying presence.

The bell ringing tore them apart, the sound crashing through the serene quiet of the hall. They stood facing each other as students poured into the halls around them. Someone drew near them, and Stiles watched Boyd slot himself at Derek’s side.

“He’s not bothering you, is he?” Boyd asked. As if Stiles wasn’t standing right there.

“No, no. He’s not bothering me.” Derek did smile then, meeting Stiles’ eyes. Stiles couldn’t help but smile back.

“Coming to practice today?” Boyd asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Derek nodded, and Boyd made a move to go, but waited for Derek.

“I’ll see you later,” Stiles said. A lifetime had trained him to know when he wasn’t exactly welcome. Derek hesitated, but Stiles took a step back. “It’s cool. Don’t die. I hear Sierra practices can get a little rough, you’re all so excitable.”

He didn’t wait for a response, and joined the flow of students moving downstairs. He was really not up to facing anyone in any Hall at the moment, so he rode the flow of students right out the door of the education building and into the quad.

He was just miserable enough not to care that a student had been murdered on the grounds a few days before, and sank to the ground, alone, in the shade of a tree. Other students milled around, between their classes, and there was even a full class being held in the cool autumn afternoon.

Dragging an anatomy book out of his bag, he flipped it open in his lap and did his best to learn the contours of the tendons in a fox’s paws. He hoped he wouldn’t actually have to dissect a fox to be able to complete the Animagi training. After everything he’d seen, he wasn’t sure if he could stomach it.

A shadow fell across his book, and he glanced up. Allison stood over him, backlit by the sun. “Um, can I sit here?”

“Sure. I guess.” Stiles shoved his backpack out of the way and she sat, perfectly poised and beautiful. She looked like she wanted to say something, and wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“You were with them, last moon, weren’t you?” Allison asked.

“Yeah. Me and Scott do everything together,” Stiles said. He ignored the fact that, no, they didn’t do everything together anymore. That since Allison had come into their lives they had been doing less and less together.

“I shot at you,” she said. Her voice was quiet, in deference to where they sat. “I could have really hurt you.”

“Yeah.” Stiles shrugged. “Don’t do that again? I guess? That would be ideal. If not, try harder to miss. That would be great.”

“Stiles, he could have killed you,” Allison said.

“Actually, we were doing great before you started shooting at us. We had a plan and everything. A well thought out plan that was working.” Stiles nodded. “You were kind of the ones who messed up the foolproof plan.”

“Why were you there, if you knew you would be in so much danger?” Allison asked. “Werewolves will kill any human within range. It’s their nature.”

Stiles shifted uneasily. He leaned back against the tree trunk and tugged his knees up towards his chest. “Scott’s my brother. I love him. And I can’t imagine how terrifying it would be to lose yourself for a whole eighteen hours. To have your control and sentience literally ripped away from you. It must be terrifying. I’m not going to let my brother go through that on his own. Did you know that when they transform, their bones break and reform?”

Allison shook her head, pale. Stiles pressed his lips into a fine line.

“Their bones break and reform to accommodate the shift. I broke one bone, once. I can’t imagine breaking all of them in the span of fifteen minutes. Their skin tears off, to make room for the growth. It’s painful. Really painful. And then they can’t remember anything after. It’s the world’s worst bender without the fun parts.” Stiles shook his head. “I will be there every time with Scott. Every single time.”

“I didn’t know,” Allison said. Her eyes were wide, unfocused as she processed what he had said. “I didn’t realise…”

“If it was really that dangerous, Scott wouldn’t be in school anymore. There are teachers that know, that can help him,” Stiles said. “Help him, meaning: not put him down.”

“I think…” Allison hesitated. She clenched her fists on her lap. “I think I want to help him, too.”

“You can start by not shooting at us with silver arrows,” Stiles said. Allison grimaced.

“I meant convincing my aunt that the werewolves around here are not a threat.”

Stiles stiffened. He swallowed thickly. “Or you could not tell your aunt anything about any of us. I think that would be the best option, actually. To just… not…”

“But if I can convince her that the wolves here aren’t a threat, she’ll stop hunting them.” Allison made a very reasonable point, a point that, given to a reasonable hunter, would make sense.

“I really, really don’t think she’s going to be one to listen,” Stiles said. “And I really don’t want her anywhere near Scott with her silver.”

“I’m sure she’ll listen to reason,” Allison said.

“Please don’t tell her anything,” Stiles said. “In fact. It’s probably best if you don’t mention that you’re friends with me. Or that you’ve talked to me. I have a really intense gut feeling that she is not going to listen. Please, Allison.”

“Okay.” Allison fidgeted, annoyed. “But I’m going to have to tell her something about why I won’t go with her on the next full moon.”

“You can come up with something,” Stiles said. Allison nodded.

Somewhere inside the building, the bell rang, signalling the change of class once again. Allison stood and brushed off her skirt. “Are you coming?” she asked.

“No. I’m going to keep studying out here.”

She nodded and made her way back into the building. Stiles watched her go, and stilled when he saw Ms Argent watching him from the front doors of the education building. She had seen them.

Stiles bit back apprehension and turned back to his book, trying to ignore her stare.

 

 

 

He should have seen it coming.

It was barely twenty four hours after, and someone slipped into his charms class with a note that caused his teacher to look up directly at him. “Mr Stilinski, the principal wants to see you. Take your bag.”

Shaking, he stuffed his bag and stood, slinging it over his shoulder. Allison gave him a thumbs up as he left the class, and he weighed his chances of running as he stepped into the hall. He’d probably make it to the town, at least. But no further than that. And they would call his father.

The kid who had brought the note, Matt something, said nothing as they walked towards the principal’s office. Stiles vaguely recalled he was in Ash Hall, but nothing else came to mind. Possibly their grade? He couldn’t remember.

Principal Gerard Argent’s office was sparse and utilitarian. Matt left him alone, facing the older man seated behind the desk. Gerard steepled his fingers like a comic book villain and leaned back in his chair. “Stilinski, is it? And how would I pronounce your first name, son?”

“With all due respect, sir, you don’t,” Stiles said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Even my father has trouble with it.”

“Very well, then, Mr Stilinski.” Gerard pushed away from the desk and stood. He rounded the desk and approach a small cabinet against a wall. Opening the door, he gestured Stiles in. Stiles stared.

The cabinet opened to a stairwell that led down, spiraling into darkness. It looked like everywhere Stiles never wanted to be, and the authority figure in the room was trying to lead him down it. He took a step back.

“Ah. I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Gerard clucked his tongue at Stiles. “I don’t believe you’d enjoy the outcome of disobeying me. Your friend Mr McCall will find a little something extra in his food tonight. Something to… enhance the flavour, shall we say.”

Stiles gripped the handle on his backpack until his fingers turned white, and entered the cupboard. Gerard followed behind him and shut the door, plunging them into darkness. Gerard snapped his fingers, and torchlight flared along the wall as it curled down.

“Go on.” Gerard said at his shoulder.

Stiles started the slow walk down the stairs, one hand on the wall to keep his balance. The stairwell opened up to what looked for the world like an underground lair, stone walls rising up from the ground around them with no windows or other doors. And sitting, kneeling rather, in the shadows behind the stairwell was-

“Boyd.” Stiles breathed. And next to Boyd, Erica Reyes, from Ash Hall. Their hands were behind their backs, and a cloth gag stuffed between both their teeth. Erica’s eyes flashed, barely contained rage bleeding through the restrained lines of her body. Boyd didn’t move. Stiles got the impression he was coiled, waiting for a chance to strike hard.

“Yes, quite the collection I’m gathering, isn’t it?” Gerard asked. His voice was sinewy and pleased. “Have a seat, Mr Stilinski.”

Stiles could do nothing but drop into the lone wooden chair in the centre of the room. He set his bag on the floor under his feet and had to settle for glaring at Gerard as he strode forward with rope in hand. Stiles weathered being lashed to the chair, arms and ankles strapped down to the point where it hurt to squirm. He kept his hitching breaths even and as deep as he could force them.

“A little birdy told me that you’ve been snooping around in the basement,” Gerard said, when he was finished. He crouched in front of Stiles, disappointment turning his lips down. “Students aren’t supposed to be wandering around in the basement. It’s off limits for a reason, Stilinski.”

“I’ll settle for a detention,” Stiles said. “The whole, bondage thing isn’t really my deal. Studies have shown-”

A sharp blow to the face cut him off. He rocked sideways in the chair, stunned, and dragged in a deep breath. He blinked back stars from his vision and resettled himself. Gerard continued to stare at him, as if he hadn’t just backhanded a student across the mouth. Stiles’ lip bled. He held his breath, afraid that if he let it out, he’d never catch it again.

“Who else knows about the basement?” Gerard asked. His calm, grandfatherly voice scraped over Stiles’ nerves like a live wire.

“Why? Afraid I’m going to out your for tying up little boys and-”

Gerard backhanded him again, and Stiles’ vision swam. He furiously blinked back tears as he returned his gaze to Gerard.

“Don’t think for a second that I am scared by a useless kid like you,” Gerard said. He sneered, thin lips peeling back. “I think you need to be taught exactly who holds the power in this situation.”

“What, I don’t even get a safeword-”

And that was the last thing he had a chance to say before his world exploded in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	10. The Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s someone there,” Stiles said, realisation suddenly flooding back. “There’s someone there, Derek. He- He was… I think he’s living in the basement.”

Someone called his name, a tight, desperate voice, and huge, warm hands cupped his aching head. Stiles blinked, and opened his eyes to see Derek leaning over him, pale and frantic. “Stiles!”

Stiles reached, his arms felt like overcooked spaghetti, and ineffectually slapped at Derek’s forearm. He grabbed Derek and latched onto his arm tightly. Derek exhaled a shaky breath of relief, and lowered his head. His forehead touched Stiles’ chest, a welcome, grounding weight, and Stiles breathed easier against it.

“Derek?” A voice issued from somewhere above him.

Stiles lifted his gaze. He was in his room, and Isaac stood at the door, half in his room, half in the hall. Derek’s hand tightened in the front of Stiles’ shirt, and he lifted his head. “Get Scott.”

Isaac nodded and disappeared, closing the door quietly behind him. Still dizzy from waking up, Stiles shifted. “What happened?”

Derek twisted his fingers with Stiles’ and held on, painfully tight. “You didn’t show up for study group. I came here, and you wouldn’t wake up.”

Stiles glanced at their joined hands and saw black veins licking up Derek’s muscled forearm. He jerked, and tried to yank his hand away, but Derek held on fiercely. “Stop.”

“What are you doing? Oh my god.” Stiles’ chest heaved. He was on the brink of panicking. Everything that had happened came rushing back, the beating, the dungeon, Boyd and Erica-

“It’s a trick my mother taught me.” Derek’s voice was calm, steady, and Stiles desperately held onto it to stave off a panic attack. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to even, gripping Derek’s hand tighter. “Pain transference. I wasn’t sure how hard you’d been hit. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

The door to his room exploded inward, and Scott and Lydia tumbled into his dorm. Scott crowded in beside Derek, and Lydia immediately crawled over the mattress to lay beside him. Her hair fell about his shoulders and neck, and Stiles cringed away, turning his face to Derek.

“Easy.” Derek breathed, intimate against his cheek, and his hand never loosened its grip.

“Stiles, what happened?” Scott asked. He rested one hand on Stiles’ knee. “Who did this to you?”

“Gerard Argent,” Stiles said. He opened his eyes and held Derek’s gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. He did it to send a message. Message received. This changes nothing.”

“The principal did this?” Scott asked, aghast. “Allison’s grandfather? But he’s a teacher!”

“Teachers are human,” Lydia repeated impatiently. She dabbed a wet cloth at the corner of Stiles’ lip. He winced, and she ignored him. “They are just as evil or good as anyone else.”

“He wanted to know who else was working in the basement with us,” Stiles said. “But he only asked once. I don’t think it was an informational session.”

Derek’s grip turned painful, and Stiles hissed. The hold immediately loosened, and Derek ran his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles in apology.

“How many fingers, Stiles?” Lydia held up three fingers.

“Three. I don’t have a concussion,” Stiles said. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it feels.”

“That’s because Derek is sharing the pain,” Lydia said. She nodded at their joined hands, where black veins still snaked along Derek’s arm. “You’ll feel it when he lets go.”

“Scott, you have to get Allison. Boyd and Erica are in there, too. I don’t know what Argent wants with them, but they were there too.” Stiles grabbed at Scott with his free hand. Scott nodded. He pushed off the bed and darted out of the room. Before the door shut, Stiles saw Isaac go after him.

“Stiles…” Derek cleared his throat. Stiles glanced at him. “Why didn’t you use the coins?”

Stiles stared at him, uncomprehending. The coins. The coins Stiles had given to Derek for when he needed a save. The coins that worked both ways. Stiles exhaled sharply. “I didn’t…” He struggled with the words. “I didn’t think you’d bother… for me…”

Derek and Lydia shared a look, indecipherable, before Derek lowered his head to Stiles’ chest again. His hand flexed around Stiles’ fingers. Lydia sat up, putting a respectful distance between them, and drew her knees to her chest. She hid her face in her knees, strawberry blond hair falling about her shoulders like a veil.

Derek lifted his head and used his free hand to tip Stiles’ face towards him. Stiles took in his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes. Worry. Derek was concerned about him. Stiles. Derek said, “I will always. _Always_. Come for you.”

“Don’t-” Stiles shook his head, unwilling to let himself believe the words. Derek’s face pinched, hurt. He didn’t try to say anything more, just lowered his head to Stiles’ chest again, listening to his heartbeat. Stiles drifted in the silence that followed.

 

 

When he woke again, the sun was low in the sky, casting his room in purples and oranges. He shifted, his knee fetching up against Lydia, who still sat beside him. She had a book in her lap that monopolised her attention. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and her eyes fixed on the book.

Derek was asleep on his chest, their fingers still entwined.

“You matter.” Lydia’s voice cut through the silence. Stiles jumped, slightly, and turned to her. She didn’t look up from her book, and pressed her lips together in a fine line. “You matter to us.”

Stiles frowned, confused. “I don’t-”

“You’re Scott’s logic.” Lydia cut him off. Stiles stared at her. “You anchor Derek. And… And you make me want to do better. So don’t think… For a second… That we wouldn’t do everything in our power to keep you safe. You’re important to us.”

Her knuckles were white, gripping her pen in one hand. She still refused to look at him. “I’m sorry we haven’t been showing you. We’re going to do better. So don’t… Don’t be afraid to lean on us.”

Stiles let his hand flop across the sheets, just barely not touching her leg. She spared a glance at it, and lowered her own hand to capture Stiles’ fingers. She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. Stiles.”

He wiggled their joined hands. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Lydia said. She shook her head and set her jaw. “But we’re going to do better.”

A light tap on the door drew their attention, and Scott opened the door. Derek jerked upright, moving but not awake completely. Stiles was caught, Derek’s hand in one, and Lydia’s in the other.

“We found Boyd and Erica. Allison’s dad wants to speak with you. He found us snooping around in the principal’s office.” Scott entered the room and sat on the floor next to Derek. He locked eyes with Derek. “Gerard took Boyd because he was close to you. Boyd is apparently dating Erica. Who knew?”

“I knew,” Derek said, his voice rough with sleep. “Are they all right?”

“Shaken, and Boyd wants to talk to you. Obviously. Erica might want to punch you in the face, but I think I talked her down,” Scott said. He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you okay to get up, Stiles?”

“Yeah. I feel fine.” To prove it, Stiles sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His ribs ached. He didn’t remember being struck there, but the whole beating was mostly a blur in his memory after the first two punches. Derek stood with him, a solid warmth at his side. Stiles gave Derek a little shove. “I said I’m fine. You can go to your Hall. Boyd deserves an explanation.”

Lydia unfolded herself from the mattress. “Stiles, you’re still bruised. Let me-”

“No.” Stiles waved her hands away. “Let them see what he did to me.”

Scott walked beside Stiles, pressed up hard against his shoulder as they moved towards the education building, where Chris Argent’s office was. Other students stared as they walked past, and Stiles was very aware of his face burning from where he was struck. His split lip ached something awful, and a headache started throbbing at the base of his skull. Next to him, though, Scott held his chin up, and dared anyone to say anything, pressing close to Stiles as they moved. A barrier between him and the rest of the school.

Allison was waiting for them inside her dad’s office. She stood behind his desk, and he got to his feet when they came in the room. His eyes hardened when he saw Stiles’ face, and he gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.

Scott closed the door behind them, and scooted his chair closer to Stiles’ when they sat.

“Allison tells me there’s been violence going on,” Chris Argent, head of campus security, said. He leaned his forearms against his desk and leveled his eyes at Stiles. “What happened, son?”

“The principal has a room beneath his office,” Stiles said. “He was holding two other students prisoner there, and took me down and tied me to a chair. He hit me.”

Stiles gestured to his face. Scott reached for his arm and drew the lip of his sleeve back, revealing abraded skin from twisting against the ropes. “Jesus, Stiles.”

“These are very serious accusations, son. Do you realise what this means?” Chris said.

“I saw the room myself, Dad,” Allison said. “Scott and I were the ones who found Boyd and Erica. They were being held against their will under Grandpa’s office.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Stiles said. Scott wouldn’t let his arm go, and leaned close to him even as he stared at Argent.

“You have to do something. He’s hurting kids.” It could have been an order. If Scott wasn’t fifteen, and a student.

“I just can’t believe he would do something this drastic without a very, very good reason,” Argent said. He hooked one leg on the desk and sat on top of it, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’m sure they both had good reasons,” Stiles said. Argent lifted an eyebrow at him, and he continued. “I’m sure Kate Argent had a very, very good reason for locking a family of werewolves in their own home and setting them on fire off the full moon. I’m sure they were a real threat to everyone. Hale casserole. Dangerous shit.”

“Be careful with your accusations, young man,” Argent warned. “Those are dangerous theories you’re throwing around.”

“I would be more careful if it was just a theory,” Stiles said, keeping his voice steady. Allison paled behind her father, and they shared a horrified look. “Ask her yourself. And while you’re at it, ask her why she’s trying to kill the remaining Hale boy. Because silver doesn’t magically appear in prepared food. And brooms don’t hex themselves.”

“Aunt Kate’s the one who hit the full wolf that night,” Allison said. She glanced at Scott. “There were two full wolves, and I thought… we were only to hit the bitten werewolf.”

“We are,” Argent said. “Born wolves retain their sanity during the full moon. They aren’t a threat.”

Argent turned sharp, intensely green eyes on Stiles and Scott. Heady tension filled the silence, until Argent stood. He said, “I have to look into this. I’m going to need some time. Don’t go anywhere alone. Even in your dorms. I’ll write whatever permission slips you need. Come to me the instant anything changes. Stilinski, you should head to medical.”

Stiles said nothing, and Scott stood. He drew Stiles up next to him and, when Stiles stumbled over reluctant limbs, looped an arm around his waist in support. Allison shifted in front of them and held the door. Stiles lifted his eyes once they were in the hall to see Derek and Lydia standing against the opposite wall. Overwhelmed, Stiles tucked his face against Scott’s shoulder and focused on breathing.

When he felt steady enough, he faced his group of friends. “I really just need to sleep.”

“I’ll take you home,” Derek said. He extended a hand towards Stiles, and Scott gripped him closer. Stiles patted Scott, and relinquished his hold to grasp Derek’s hand.

“Argent says not to leave him alone,” Scott said. Derek didn’t take his eyes off of Stiles.

“Hadn’t planned on it,” he said.

“What about your classes?” Lydia asked, logical as always.

“I don’t care,” Derek said.

“That’s all noble and everything, but this is a school, and classes do happen. And Stiles happens to have friends in every single class,” Lydia said. “And I do not associate with students who are failing classes. Don’t think you’re an exception. We’ll set up a rotation.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in my gym class this semester. I took soccer.” Stiles didn’t like the glint in Lydia’s eye.

“Jackson’s in that class,” she said. “And he is going to help.”

“You scare me sometimes,” Stiles said. He leaned against Derek wearily. “I’ll let you figure it out. I need sleep. I’m so over this adventure. I’m ready for school to be boring again.”

Derek settled a steadying hand around Stiles’ waist and they left the education building together. Scott and Lydia walked Stiles back to Rickonson Hall before parting. Derek helped Stiles up to his dorm, and settled Stiles on his bed. He sank to the ground beside the bed, and he settled his hand on Stiles’ chest. He had to feel Stiles’ heart thundering against his palm. Stiles closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing.

He was acutely aware of the heat from Derek’s hand, grounding him and keeping the pain from the last few hours at bay. Stiles had to break the silence. “What did Boyd say?”

“He was angry, at first,” Derek said. “Rightfully. He never should have been dragged into this. And for Erica to be involved, too…”

“It’s bound to get larger, the closer we get. He’s the head of the school. His actions influence everyone else’s,” Stiles said. He fidgeted, kicking at his sheets. “He has the run of the school. There’s no way we could keep it contained.”

“They shouldn’t have been dragged into this,” Derek maintained.

“It’s not your fault-”

“It is, Stiles. It is. Boyd was taken because he’s close to me,” Derek said. His hand clenched into a fist over Stiles’ chest.

Stiles cupped Derek’s fist in one hand. “You are allowed to have friends, Derek. You’re allowed to let people get close to you. It isn’t your fault that someone is trying to hurt you. Gerard Argent is the one who kidnapped Boyd. Not you. Don’t take that on yourself. Gerard did this. Not you.”

Stiles waved at his face and slumped against his pillow. “So stop blaming yourself. Even your ridiculously broad shoulders can’t handle that weight.”

Derek ran his knuckles over Stiles’ cheek and jaw, warm and soothing. Stiles closed his eyes as Derek twisted their fingers together over Stiles’ heart. “How are you so patient?”

Stiles laughed in disbelief. “Patient is the last thing I am. I don’t think patient and Stiles have ever been used in the same room. You’re too hard on yourself, dude. Bad shit happened to you. And it was truly, horribly bad shit. But even if you weren’t involved in Kate’s awful plan, she would have found a way to hurt your family. You were just a piece in her game. You can’t blame yourself for that. Any more than I can blame myself for my mom. So give yourself a break. Here. Come on.”

Stiles tugged on Derek’s hand, urging him to climb into bed next to him. Derek toed off his shoes and slid into the sheets beside Stiles. They wiggled, bumping elbows and tangling legs, until Derek dragged Stiles against his chest and curled around him. Stiles burrowed against him.

“What is this?” Stiles asked, his face mushed against Derek’s chest.

“That is my sternum,” Derek said, completely deadpan, and Stiles snorted.

“Ha ha. Sour wolf has a funny bone.” Stiles tapped Derek’s sternum and craned his neck to look at him. “I mean us. This. What is it? Are we friends? I kind of annoy the piss out of you.”

“You don’t.” Derek’s voice was immeasurably fond, and that dumb little smirk was back. Stiles settled, using Derek’s bicep as a pillow as Derek’s fingers carded through his hair. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Stiles Stilinski is one of a kind,” Stiles said. “The earth would probably collapse under the collective weight of our shenanigans if there were more of me.”

“I want to protect you,” Derek said. He lowered his voice, intimate in the space between them. “I was going crazy, looking for you.”

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” Stiles said. “I appreciate it, but I can look out for myself. I’ve been talking my way out of punishments since I was five. I’m not the one with the crazy ex running around.”

Derek stiffened, and Stiles petted his side awkwardly, in apology. “I know you can’t help it. Sierra’s are like that.”

Derek chuckled and relaxed. He tucked his face against Stiles’ hair and said, “Sleep. I’ll take care of your bruises in the morning.”

“ ‘kay.”

 

 

 

Stiles froze in the doorway to the girl’s bathroom the next day. Boyd and Erica sat on the floor between the sinks, and both waved at him. Derek gave him a light push from behind for him to move, and Stiles stumbled into the room. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Figured that we were dragged into it,” Boyd said. “Might as well make ourselves useful.”

“I am not taking this lying down.” Erica slammed a fist into the ground. The linoleum cracked under her hand. She winced, and clasped her hand to her chest. “Sorry. Um. I have super strength.”

“Run that by me again?” Stiles approached, awed, and sank to the ground in front of her. He didn’t miss the pleased smirk tipping Boyd’s lips.

“Super strength. I suffer from seizures, and a side effect of the meds is super strength.” Erica lifted both fists in the air. “Huzzah!”

“You’re like Supergirl,” Stiles said. He grinned. Erica laughed, and Stiles resolved to make her laugh as much as possible. He liked the sound. “If you have super strength, why didn’t you bust out yesterday?”

“Well I certainly don’t want him to know, hello. The less information your enemy has, the better advantage you hold. But, dude, those was some Batman moves the other day,” Erica said. Boyd leaned into her shoulder.

“Nah. More like James Bond, from Casino Royale.”

All the dudes in the room subtly shifted their legs, grimacing at the memory. Erica laughed again.

“No, definitely Batman,” she said. Her eyes glittered. “Because we’re going to get revenge, right?”

“We’re not going to get revenge, we’re going to get justice,” Stiles said. “Nobody is revenging anyone. That never ends well. We can’t go up against the adults anyway. We have to be smart about this. We have priorities. Make sure Derek and Scott live until the next full moon. Contact my dad. Work with Chris Argent. We’ll get them, but we can’t be stupid about it.”

“Make sure no one lays hands on you again,” Derek interjected. He leveled his eyes at Stiles. Stiles nodded and waved away his concern.

“Lydia?”

Lydia sat up straighter, her shoulders back and hair pulled up away from her face. “Kira is going to take over the brewing process, with Scott, Allison, and Isaac to help her. I will still be managing, of course, but Stiles, you and I are going to be working on our side project. Vernon, Erica, and Derek are on your protective detail.”

“What? What about me?” Scott uncurled from the floor. “Stiles is my friend, too.”

“Do you have super strength, and/or are you built like a linebacker?” Lydia asked, frostily. “Scott, you can’t even form a decent barrier. Your talents are better used here.”

Scott pouted, and slumped against the wall. Lydia rolled her eyes and huffed an impatient breath. “We are all here because of you, Scott McCall. Look at what you’ve done. You’ve brought all four Halls together for a common purpose, and you might just save the school, and some lives while you’re at it. Are you going to sulk like a five year old, or are you going to grow up?”

Allison graced Scott with a small smile, and he sat up straighter. A slow, dopey smile spread over his face, and he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Lydia and Kira switched places, and Derek moved to his spot by the window. Stiles shoved his books around to make room for Lydia so crouch beside him, and over the top of his book he saw Boyd staring at them.

“What side project?” Boyd asked.

Stiles cast his eyes to Scott to find him thoroughly distracted between Isaac and Allison, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “We’re learning to become Animagus, to surprise Scott. The wolfsbane isn’t going to last forever without going undetected.”

“Can I help?” Boyd asked. Stiles blinked, surprised. He glanced at Lydia.

“Absolutely.” Lydia shoved an anatomy book at him, and then their notes on their respective forms. “Check these for inconsistencies. The diagrams must be perfect or our bodies will liquify.”

And Boyd just took them, stole a pen from Erica, and got to work. No questions asked. Stiles opened and closed his mouth. Lydia settled in beside him, bumping shoulders. Glancing up, Stiles caught Derek’s eyes. Derek gave him a gentle smile, and Stiles grinned back.

Get to work indeed.

 

 

A week later, Stiles was able to mutate his entire arm into a fox paw. The actual transfiguration part was easy enough, once the biology and anatomy was engraved in the grooves of his brain matter. He stood next to Derek in the hall between classes, grinning.

“Watch this.” Stiles held up his hand and before their eyes red-brown fur sprouted along the length of his arm. His fingers melted and fused to become a small paw, and he wiggled it gleefully.

“Brilliant.” Derek breathed. He lifted a hand to touch, and dragged fingers along Stiles’ fox fur. A shiver slipped down Stiles’ spine at the touch. Possibly his bones were melting. “This is brilliant.”

A shriek went up from behind Stiles, and he quickly retracted his fur. Derek’s eyes widened, and he shoved Stiles down, crouching over him. Something slammed into the wall next to them with a metallic ring. Stiles twisted around Derek to see a fucking broadsword quivering in the wall where their heads had been.

“What the shit-”

Derek grabbed his arm and yanked, because the broadsword wasn’t finished. It wrenched itself free of the wall and took a wild swing at Derek’s head. It went wide, and Derek had enough time to get out of the way. He shoved Stiles down, away from him, and took off.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted. He swore, dumped his bookbag in the corner between the lockers and the wall, and took off after him.

Because Derek was Derek, he bolted down a lesser used hall, almost clear of students. No collateral damage. Except the lockers and walls. Derek tripped and hit a row of lockers, and dropped to the ground to avoid the sword sinking through cheap metal. Stiles skidded down the hall after them.

A freaking sword.

Derek shoved himself off the ground and took off again, the sword in hot pursuit. Stiles chased the damage path, trying to think over the horrified pounding of his heart. Think. Think. Heat-seeking sword. What spells? How did it work?

“Stiles!”

Stiles slid, slamming into the wall to prevent himself from falling over his own feet. Kira ran at him, katana in hand. She caught up with him and shoved a thick, black marker into his hand. “Make a firewall.”

“Firewall.” Stiles dropped to the ground and hastily scribbled a line of calligraphy across the length of the hall. He crouched at one end of the line. “Derek! Come back this way!”

Derek reversed directions, narrowly avoiding getting a brand new haircut as the sword sliced through the air over him. He darted towards them. “Stiles?”

“We got it,” Stiles said. He kept his eyes on the sword as it spun, blade over hilt after Derek. They couldn’t afford to miss. Stiles set his hand on the line of ink closest to him. Kira stood behind the line, sword up.

“Down!” Stiles shouted when Derek was two steps away from the line. Derek dropped, sliding on linoleum over the black ink line.

As soon as he was clear, Stiles lit the line.

A sheer wall of fire exploded from the ground, blasting hot air in every direction. Derek slid to a halt a few feet behind Kira, who stood, waiting. The fire caught the broadsword and swept it upwards until it smashed into the ceiling. It dropped, like a puppet with its strings cut, and Kira stepped deftly out of its path.

It clattered to the floor, scorched and deactivated.

Stiles slumped against the wall and killed the firewall. Not quick enough to stop the sprinkler system from activating, though. He received a shower of gross, dusty water.

Kira sheathed her sword and started scuffing out the black marker on the floor. Derek staggered to where Stiles sat and hauled him to his feet. Stiles raked his gaze over Derek, looking for injury. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Derek said, panting hard. “That was dumb.”

“It worked,” Stiles said. “Also, it was her idea.”

Kira flashed a grin at them before toeing the defunct sword with her boot. She crouched beside it and poked it with the marker as water soaked into their clothes and puddled on the floor.

“Kira, don’t poke it. You’re going to make it angry,” Stiles said. He tugged her up. He heard the pounding of footsteps, and knew his firewall had drawn the attention of the teachers.

Sure enough, seconds later, Chris Argent, Kate Argent, and Mr Harris rounded the corner. Mr Harris slid in the water on the floor, and Chris grabbed the back of his jacket to keep him upright.

“What is going on here?” Chris asked.

“An enchanted sword tried to kill him,” Stiles said. He pointed to Derek, who was still panting from his run. Water slid down his face, matting his hair down. “Kira and I stopped it.”

“An enchanted sword?” Kate Argent stalked over to the broadsword. She bent over it and nudged it with her toe. She crouched. “This is one of the swords missing from the principal’s collection.”

Stiles kept himself between Derek and Kate, and backed into Derek. He reached behind him to grasp Derek’s wrist, to keep him in place. Chris Argent turned his attention to Kira.

“Miss Yukimura, why do you have a sword on school grounds?”

“I have permission,” Kira said. She pushed soaked hair back from her forehead. “I have a kitsune charm. It’s in my file. Seriously. Ask my dad. He teaches here.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please put it away.”

Kira slung the sword sheath over her shoulder and folded her arms over her chest. She didn’t exactly ignore Chris, but she sidled to Stiles’ side and glared at him. Chris waved his wand, and the sprinklers stopped spewing water. A few lonely drops trickled to the ground. Chris tucked his wand into his sheath and picked up the sword. He ran his hands over the hilt. “This is the family crest. It’s Dad’s, all right. Are you sure this is one of the ones that went missing?”

“Yeah.” Kate nodded. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll take it. I can figure out what hexed it.”

Chris kept his grip on the sword. “I think I’d better have one of my men look at it. You have classes, don’t you?”

Kate sneered, slick and annoyed. “I suppose I do. You’ll clean up here, then?”

Chris nodded. Kate shrugged and stomped away, boots clicking against wet tile. Chris waved Mr Harris away, and then turned to Stiles and Derek. “I’m noticing a lot of the ‘accidents’ on campus involve you two recently.”

“Maybe you should look at the cause of them before accusing us of sending swords after ourselves,” Stiles said. His grip on Derek’s wrist tightened. Chris glanced between them, and then cast his gaze over the destruction in the hall.

“Go home, get cleaned up. You’re excused for the next two periods.” Chris moved past them to the worst of the damage, and Stiles heard some of his security team approaching. Stiles didn’t want to press his luck and pulled Derek after him as he and Kira retreated.

“What just happened?” Derek asked. They pushed out the main doors of the education building into the quad.

“Chris Argent might be working on uncovering evidence to accuse his sister and father of conspiracy to murder,” Stiles said. He didn’t look at Derek. “And arson.”

Derek yanked him around so hard Stiles’ arm nearly wrenched out of his shoulder. He grimaced and slapped Derek’s chest in retaliation. “What did you tell him?”

“Easy, Derek.” Kira shifted in close to Stiles.

“Remember what we were talking about, about how sometimes you need someone in your corner?” Stiles asked. Derek’s frown deepened. “I don’t think Chris is a bad guy. And we can’t do this by ourselves. We need someone in authority that people will listen to. I mean, look at us. I’m a hyperactive kid with no brain-mouth filter, and you’re old enough to be in college, and Kira’s a glowing- fox- thing.”

“Thanks,” Kira said.

“Chris loves his daughter, and his daughter happens to love Scott. I think our best chance at being heard is to go through him,” Stiles said. He pried Derek’s hand off his arm. “He has the power to make the connections we need to bring Kate and Gerard down.”

Derek clenched his jaw so hard Stiles could practically hear teeth grinding. Kira bumped Stiles’ shoulder. “He’s right, Derek. Adults don’t listen to kids. And Mr Argent is right there. He’ll know if Principal Argent does anything else. He didn’t let Ms Argent take the sword, so he must think something’s going on. Right?”

“You gotta trust me. Even if it goes bad, I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? We’ll get through it.” Stiles pushed a hand through his hair and it fluffed up, stringy from their impromptu shower.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Derek said through clenched teeth. Stiles exhaled when their eyes met, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Let’s just get through one day at a time, okay?” Stiles conceded. “If the buddy system isn’t strong enough, we’ll move to threes.”

“Yeah, I’m following you guys today. Sorry,” Kira said. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail, out of her eyes.

Stiles sighed. “Back to mine, I guess. Ms Morrell wouldn’t appreciate two other Halls invading. Come on.”

 

 

The thing about threes is, even with multiple lookouts, when someone wants to destroy they will find a way to do it.

Which was why Stiles felt the floor fall out from under him when Allison Argent rushed into his trigonometry class. She leaned towards the teacher in hushed, urgent conversation, and Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from the black gunk on her shirt and arms.

The teacher glanced at Stiles. “Mr Stilinski, pack your things.”

Lydia shot him a concerned look, but this was Allison, pale and panicked. Not a random student escort to the principal's office. Stiles grabbed his books and slid out of his chair. Allison snatched his hand and led him from the room without a word.

She pulled him along, the silence tense and awful between them. Stiles didn’t want to know what had happened, but he knew where they were going. Allison guided him through the doors of the medical building, and towards the patient wing.

Pausing in front of one of the rooms, Allison threw the door open and entered. Stiles followed, his heart in his throat. He knew what he was going to see before Allison moved out of his line of sight.

Scott lay in the bed, pale, unconscious, and barely breathing. He didn’t have a mark on him, and when Stiles saw Isaac he guessed why.

“Aconite,” Stiles said. Isaac hunched in on himself, his hands smeared with black ooze.

“Aconite and silver,” Allison said, her voice hoarse. She gripped her arms over her chest. “We were finishing lunch and he just fell over. I didn’t see anything. Nothing out of the ordinary. If we hadn’t been there…”

“He would have died,” Stiles finished for her. Just like Derek. “Please tell me your dad has something.”

She shook her head, dark brown curls bouncing. “Nothing concrete yet. He thinks they’re doing something in the basement, but the wards are very strong down there. He can’t break them without tipping them off.”

“They’re going to be tipped off when he figures out who hexed that sword,” Stiles said. Allison tipped a curious eyebrow. Stiles waved his hand. “A broadsword tried to take Derek’s head off the other day. Your dad and aunt were first responders.”

“I remember him looking at that,” she said. “He was teaching me to reverse engineer the hex. Stiles, you use a fire charm on it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I had to. It wasn’t stopping.”

“The fire destroyed the residual magic on the sword. We weren’t able to get anything off of it.” Allison bit her lower lip. “And Grandpa swears it was taken from his collection. The wards on his offices were shattered. There was some sort of break in.”

“Or a very convincing set up,” Stiles said. He felt steel bands strap into place around his lungs. Breathing as steady as he could, he nodded to Allison. “Thanks for getting me. I have to… Let me know if anything changes.”

She nodded, and Stiles left her and Isaac to their vigil. He could help Scott by not being in the room and distracting everyone with his tightening chest. He slipped into an empty patient room and dropped his bag on the ground. Leaning against the wall, he slid to the ground. Well, his legs gave out, because he was shaking so hard and his breathing started to rasp.

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed the warped quarter and squeezed it, clasping his hands together hard to try and stop the shaking. The bands around his chest grew tighter and tighter. He couldn’t draw a full breath, and the world started to fuzz around the edges.

An eternity passed as he fought to drag air into unwilling lungs, and the door to the room opened. Someone entered the room and swiftly closed the door before crouching in front of him.

“Jesus. Stiles! Are you hurt?” Derek’s face swam into view, and Stiles shook his head hard.

“P-Panic attack.” Stiles gasped. He sucked in too sharp a breath, too shallow even as his chest heaved.

Derek peeled his fingers back from the coin and let Stiles grasp at his hand instead. He pressed their joined hands to his own chest. “Okay. I need you to breathe with me, Stiles. With me. Inhale.”

He tried, he really did, but he just couldn’t. There wasn’t enough air in the room.

Derek’s other hand cupped his jaw and forced his eyes up. “Look at me. You’re safe. Breathe with me.”

Stiles felt the rise of Derek’s chest, filling with air. Air that had to be in the room. He closed his eyes and forced air in. When Derek exhaled, Stiles exhaled. Derek breathed in again, and Stiles paced him. The steel bands loosened, until Stiles couldn’t feel them anymore, and he let out a half-sob of relief.

Derek kept a firm grip on Stiles’ hand, still pressed to his chest. “Okay?”

“How did you-” Stiles asked dizzily.

“Sierra Hall. I know a lot of first aid,” Derek said.

The remaining tension in Stiles snapped, and he laughed. Borderline hysterical, but laughter. Derek gathered him close, and Stiles laugh-cried against his chest through the adrenaline crash. It wasn’t his prettiest ten minutes ever, but Derek said nothing and held him securely, protecting him from everything that was happening on the other side of those walls. From the world.

Derek didn’t even say anything about the tears smeared across the front of his chest. He just helped Stiles to his feet and hovered like an anxious puppy. Stiles felt shaky on his feet, and grabbed Derek’s hand like the dork he was, holding on. Derek let him.

“Do you know what set it off?” Derek asked, once Stiles had enough time to gather himself.

Stiles pushed a hand through his hair with a shaky laugh. “Scott almost died. They really, really tried to kill him. He’s just a kid. And… I guess it just hit me. We’re all just kids. And they’re…”

Derek’s face shuttered, like a shadow falling across it, and he turned away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No.” Stiles cut in. “I meant. They- they shouldn’t be doing this. It isn’t your fault, Derek. You have to understand that.”

Derek said nothing. Stiles tightened his fingers around Derek’s, and exhaled slowly. He’d keep saying it. Keep saying it until one day, Derek believed him. Even if that day were years in the future. Someone had to.

“Hey. Can I kiss you?”

Derek looked at him, surprised. He nodded and urged Stiles closer with a tug on their hands. For how intimidating Derek usually made himself, he was only Stiles' height. Possibly even shorter, and when Stiles leaned forward, their chests bumped and their lips slotted together perfectly. Stiles' hand found the crisp fabric of Derek's shirt and he held on, while Derek lifted his free hand to Stiles' jaw. Stiles felt like he was melting from the inside out, as Derek's fingers ghosted over his skin, guiding his head into a better position. The rest of Stiles' tension bled away under the sensation of Derek's lips on his, and they parted with a soft breath. Derek rested his forehead against Stiles'.

“Now get back to class. We’ll be okay.”

 

 

 

The next day, Scott was still in medical. Lydia tugged Stiles aside at lunch and told him to meet her after dinner by the Quidditch pitch. After dinner meant darkness, and darkness meant lurking. Stiles nodded, his mouth full of curly fries, and glanced at Derek.

The pack had made good on their promise not to let him out of their sight. When Lydia wasn’t harassing him about homework problems, Allison appeared at his elbow, or Isaac turned up at his dorm room to crash under the pretense of studying. And Derek had all but fastened himself to Stiles’ side, to the point Stiles had to force him to go to his own classes.

“Do you want to have dinner together?” Derek asked. He meant eat in the mess after classes were done for the day, instead of going back to Stiles’ dorm and sneaking in the window. Like the creeper wolf he was.

“Yeah. That’s a good plan,” Stiles said.

After classes, Stiles’ turn with the wolfsbane, and dinner, he and Derek made their way to the Quidditch pitch as dusk fell. Lydia was already there, surrounded by Boyd, Erica, and Allison. Who was carrying a crossbow. And a thigh holster of knives.

“Um,” Stiles said helpfully.

“Allison is coming to guard us from the axe murderer,” Lydia said. “Derek can help. We’re going to work on the Animagus spell. I expect a full transformation from you, and we’re going to help Vernon find his Animagus form.”

She turned, towards the Preserve, and Stiles felt rooted to the ground. “We’re going in there? At night? Lydia, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“We’re not going far,” Lydia said. “And that’s why I brought Allison. Daddy won’t punish her if they find us. We need somewhere large and unpopulated. What better place?”

“The basement?” Stiles suggested weakly. Lydia rolled her eyes and started off, sinking her four inch heels into soft grass with finesse. Stiles and Derek were the last to follow, falling in behind Erica and Boyd as they picked their way into the dense undergrowth.

Lydia seemed to know where she was going, and Stiles didn’t want to think about her scouting the area on her own before. Though, in all honesty, she had probably taken Jackson, or that Aidan kid. Or both. Probably both. And she and Allison both had bags. Full of… something nefarious, undoubtedly.

True to her word, Lydia did not go far into the Preserve. She led them just far enough in that the school was hidden by trees and low hanging branches, and dropped her pack on the ground. Allison and Boyd walked in a circle, clearing out a small space for all of them to sit. They chucked branches and flattened tall grass, and eventually there was enough space for all of them to sit.

Stiles crouched, with his back to a tree, and watched Lydia start a small fire in the centre of the clearing. Boyd and Erica sat next to Stiles, the firelight casting an unnatural orange glow to their features. Lydia finally sat on the other side of Boyd, across the fire from Stiles, and pulled a few incense sticks from her bag.

Allison and Derek stood on the outskirts of the clearing, facing the Preserve. There wasn’t much to be heard over the chirping bugs and crackling firewood. Stiles wasn’t sure if they’d even hear anything coming. Lydia helped ease Boyd into the same meditative trance they had entered, and Stiles fixed his attention on shifting his arms back and forth between fox and human. The group fell quiet.

Unsettled, Stiles had to break it. “We are going to get into so much trouble.”

Lydia shifted where she sat, her attention on Boyd. “It’s for science.”

“Science is literally the opposite of magic,” Stiles said. He tested the joints on his newly shifted fox limb. Seemed to be in order. No pain or rending of tendons.

“No it’s not. Magic is unexplained science.”

“Ugh. Fine, Isaac Asimov.” Stiles tested out the shift on his other arm, but lost the fox paw in his tent of a sleeve. “Crap.”

“It was Arthur C Clarke,” Derek said from his place at the edge of the campfire.

“Jesus. Everyone’s a critic. Hey, look, no hands!” Stiles grinned and held up his two fox paws to the firelight. He caught a flash of Derek’s bemused grin, but Lydia was less impressed.

“Stop playing around, Stiles. Do you think we’re out here for shits and giggles? Can you fully transform or not?” Lydia asked. Her eyes flashed dangerously in the firelight.

Stiles swallowed hard. “I’ve never done the full one, but I think I got the hang of all the extremities.”

“Well do it.” Lydia hissed between gritted teeth. Erica glared at Stiles now, too. The tables were turning against him.

He settled on the ground, with his legs outstretched in front of him. “Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

He toed off his shoes and concentrated on how his human muscles would contract and rebend to form a fox’s hind legs. Foxes had much the same internal organs as humans, just smaller and shifted around quite a bit. He let the sound of the crackling fire hone his concentration, and he started to force his body to change.

Fur sprouted everywhere, and he started to get smaller. The line of trees blocking out the stars grew farther and farther away, and he collapsed into his tshirt and plaid overshirt. He panicked for a brief, horrible moment, and tore his way to open air with claws.

Only to freeze.

Several large, very heavy, very dangerous creatures surrounded him and he was in their line of sight. The hair on his back stood on end, and he arched his back slightly with a hiss. He took one step backwards, inching towards the safety of the forest, the cover of shadow. The creature on his right made a move, a grab for him, and he bolted in a swish of his large, fluffy tail.

The darkness of the forest surrounded him, swallowing him whole. He heard the huge creature crashing through the growth behind him, but he was already gone. Four feet were much faster than two feet, and he was so much closer to the ground.

He ran, hugging the dense, leafy underbrush, until he came to another clearing. A massive structure rose out of the ground, not a tree or a cave, but something different. Confused, he trotted closer, light on his paws in case he had to run again.

A twig snapped somewhere near him and he froze, his ears pricking towards the sound. He heard another heartbeat, much slower and higher from the ground than his. He cautiously backed into the shadows as the source of the thrumming drew closer. It was another creature, silhouetted against the stars in the sky. He couldn’t see very well, but it looked like half the creature’s face was missing. Or damaged.

The creature paused, and then turned to look directly at him. He bolted, disappearing once more into the shadows of the forest and to safety.

 

 

 

 

The sun rose and set, and he lost track of time. His life became compelled by the need to eat, the need for warmth, and the undeniable urge to remain unseen by anything larger than him. He could fight, for sure, but he would much rather not if it came down to it. He could see better at night, anyway. The sun was just too bright. Too much of a chance he’d be seen.

He had captured himself a nice little rat thing, one day when the sun hung low in the sky, and it was so good he didn’t quite hear the creature sneaking up on him until it was too late. He leapt to his feet, only to find that his legs wouldn’t obey him. The creature grabbed the ruff of his neck and lifted him into the air, and he wailed.

His voice changed- And suddenly he was on the ground, on hands and knees, gasping for air. The creature was still there, murmuring something, and he could almost understand it- Like something he had dreamed a long time ago.

“Stiles!” The creature grabbed at his shoulders, desperate.

Stiles. That… was his name. He was Stiles.

“Oh my god.” Stiles trembled violently. He met Derek’s gaze, horror and panic welling up inside him. His voice was hoarse with disuse. “Oh my god.”

Derek dragged him close, crushing him against his chest. Stiles grabbed onto him, onto the sheer solid warmth Derek provided. The human warmth. Human. He was human.

“Shh, okay Stiles. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Derek muttered fiercely into his hair, holding his head to his shoulder. Stiles couldn’t stop shaking. His fingers couldn’t grip anything, and he just scrabbled at Derek’s sleeve like a helpless kit. Derek didn’t seem to care, just clutched at him firmly.

More people crashed through the undergrowth, and Stiles jerked in Derek’s arms, kicking at the ground in an effort to escape. Derek held him still, gently but firmly, as more creatures- humans. He was human- pushed to Derek’s side. The one with the red hair. Lydia. It was in disarray for the first time Stiles had ever seen, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“Easy. Slowly. He’s disoriented,” Derek said.

“Stiles, can you understand me?” Lydia asked. “Do you know who I am?”

“Lydia.” Stiles’ voice croaked out of his throat. A bottle of water appeared in front of his face, and he reached to take it, but couldn’t manage the cap. Derek unhooked his hands for the exact amount of time it took to twist the lid off and help ease the neck to Stiles’ lips. Water was good. Very good.

Good, but he was still shaking like a leaf. One of the girls- Allison- bent to drape a thin blanket over his shoulders, and Derek tucked it around him efficiently. Lydia gestured to Boyd, and Boyd handed her a backpack. She ripped it open and yanked out a pair of sweats before shoving them at Derek.

Derek managed to slide the sweats over his legs with one hand, the other still around Stiles’ shoulders. When he was presentable, someone shoved a protein bar in front of his face. He managed that without help.

Standing up was a completely different story, though. Derek pulled Stiles to his feet, and his legs promptly gave out. Only Derek’s octopus-like grasp kept him from face-planting the forest floor, and Derek said nothing when he swept Stiles up into his arms. Stiles felt he should put up at least some sort of protest, but he was still shaking. And Derek was warm and solid.

Derek’s concealment charm kept anyone from seeing them enter Rickonson Hall through the back door. Lydia snuck in behind them after sending Allison and Boyd home with Erica.

Derek set Stiles down on… his bed? He supposed. The room smelled intensely like him, like safety and home. Stiles felt some of the tension from the transformation start to bleed away. Derek was in a hushed conversation with Lydia at the doorway. She cast one last look at Stiles before nodding sharply. She handed Derek a bag and left, and Derek shut the door behind her.

He went to the window and drew the blinds, shutting out the last rays of the setting sun. When he crouched in front of Stiles in one swift motion, Stiles couldn’t repress the flinch. Derek slowed his motions, one hand carefully cradling Stiles’. “I want to get you cleaned, and then you can rest. Will that be okay?”

Clean. Clean was good. Stiles nodded.

Derek stood and left the room, to return a few moments later with a basin and towel. He set the basin on the floor beside Stiles’ bed, and knelt in front of Stiles. Gingerly, he tugged the blanket down from Stiles’ bare shoulders. He wet the cloth, and started smoothing it over dirt-smudged skin.

As he worked, all of the small cuts and bruises Stiles had accumulated made themselves known. Stiles followed the path of the cloth, and Derek’s hands, down his arms, to his hands, across his chest. He managed to keep himself still when Derek scrubbed the cloth over his face, and scrunched up his nose when water tried to get into his eyes. He tugged his head free of Derek’s hands, and shoved the cloth away.

“Okay. You’re done anyway.” Derek dunked the cloth into the basin and sat back, one hand resting lightly on Stiles’ knee. “You’re so quiet.”

“I-” Stiles started. His voice stuck. He coughed, and shook his head. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Derek said. “It’ll come back.”

Stiles stared at him. But what if it didn’t. What if Stiles never stopped shaking? What if he could never breathe properly again?

“Eyes on me.” Derek cupped Stiles’ face in both hands, smoothing thumbs over Stiles’ cheeks. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re thinking, it’ll be okay. We can handle it. What matters is that you’re alive. You’re alive.”

Stiles did the only thing he could think of in that moment, and pull Derek close, burying his face in his chest. Derek grabbed him tightly. He said nothing, and just provided the stalwart strength of his body to Stiles. If Stiles gripped hard enough, maybe he could stop shaking.

Derek eventually shifted them onto the bed fully, stretched out and tangled in the sheets. Stiles fell into an uneasy sleep, held firm against Derek’s chest. He dreamed of running, of reaching branches, and a house that stretched into the sky.

 

 

 

 

“Stiles!”

Derek’s hoarse shout ripped him from sleep and he cried out, struggling against restraints holding him in place. He drove an elbow backwards, and Derek grunted, his hold loosening. Stiles flailed upright much too quickly, and toppled off the mattress. The blankets followed.

“Stiles. Jesus. It’s me. Do you recognise me?”

Stiles sucked down breath after heaving breath, trying to inhale past iron bands winching tight around his lungs. He followed the voice to see Derek perched on the edge of the mattress, afraid to come close but unable to stay away. Derek.

“M-My name isn’t J-Jesus,” Stiles managed. He hissed out a breath between clenched teeth, and Derek barked a sharp laugh.

Derek slipped from the mattress and reached for Stiles. Stiles let himself be drawn close. Derek said, “You shifted in your sleep. I could barely hold onto you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“My d-dream.” Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s arm. “I-I think… I was at the House.”

Words were unfamiliar to him. They felt heavy in his chest, exhausting to try and speak.

“Is that where you were?” Derek asked. “We canvassed that whole lot, looking for you.”

“There’s someone there,” Stiles said, realisation suddenly flooding back. “There’s someone there, Derek. He- He was… I think he’s living in the basement.”

“Don’t-” Derek’s voice was strained. “Don’t think about that. Just focus on recovering. We’ll deal with that later.”

“But- What Cora said, what if it’s-”

“Stiles.” Derek put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and distanced himself enough to see Stiles’ face. “I can’t- I thought you were dead. You were missing for three days. And- I can’t handle another blow like that again. Not right now. So please. Just-”

Stiles took pity on him and pressed close again. Derek dipped his face into the crook of Stiles’ shoulder and together, they simply breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho. only a few chapters left!


	11. Third Time is the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek dropped Stiles a little too harshly to the ground beside the fire and swiftly reconnected the anise rope barrier. The hum of magic activating filled the air, and settled along Stiles’ fur. Finished, Derek knelt in front of Stiles, who really couldn’t be bothered to move. “Stiles, change back.”
> 
> Ugh. Changing involved effort and effort involved pain. He wasn’t sure how he could change suffering cracked ribs without doing more damage. Derek cupped his muzzle between both hands. “Stiles, I can’t heal you in this shape. I don’t know how fox ribs are shaped. You need to change back.”

It took Stiles a few days before he stopped jumping at every flash of movement, and every loud noise. His voice came back in increments, snide comments that literally had to be said or he would explode. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Lydia was encouraging his sarcastic outbursts, trying to draw his humanity out of him again. She seemed to be able to press all of his patience buttons in one go, to the point even Scott noticed.

“Dude, did you piss her off or something?” Scott asked. He had pulled Stiles aside during their study group meeting one afternoon.

“I… don’t think so?” Stiles said. He wasn’t sure. Exactly. “No?”

“She seems pricklier than normal,” Scott said. Allison pinched his ass, and he yelped, shooting her a wounded look. She scowled at him. “I mean that in a nice way!”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s time for class.” Stiles grabbed his things and waited for Lydia and Kira before exiting the girl’s bathroom.

Kira trotted up the stairs, humming to herself, but Lydia pulled Stiles to a halt at the foot of the stairwell. “Stiles, I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Lydia clutched her books to her chest, a shield between Stiles and her. “I wasn’t nearly as prepared as I should have been that night, and you suffered for it. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“There’s no way you could have known, Lydia,” Stiles said. “It’s okay. It happened.”

“It shouldn’t have,” Lydia insisted. She flicked her eyes towards the stairs, where Kira waited for them. “We’re going to try again tonight. This time we’ll get it right.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles smiled. “But thank you.”

Lydia pressed her lips together and ended the conversation by following Kira up the stairs.

 

 

 

The moon was a sliver away from being full that night, and it did nothing to set Stiles’ nerves at ease. Derek looked ill, holding himself like all of his joints were inflamed with fever. He didn’t provide a convincing sentry at the edge of their circle, this time around. Stiles watched Lydia and Allison walk around the cleared ground, stringing a length of rope around and between the trees.

“What is that?” Stiles asked.

“Rope woven with anise seeds,” Lydia said. “Once the circle is complete, nothing goes in or out. So, I hope you got your fox shenanigans out last time. Because you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

Stiles relaxed, settling on the floor of the forest with the fire burning in front of him and his friends around him. He hadn’t missed how Derek refused to let him out of his sight. Ever. Or Erica and Boyd popping up in random places all over campus.

A slight hum filled the air when Lydia activated the barrier, and she brushed her hands off, pleased.

“Vernon’s been working on his animagi form,” Lydia said. She leaned over Stiles excitedly. “He’s a stag.”

And it seemed perfect, from what Stiles knew of Boyd. “Wait. Did you get it?”

Lydia smirked. Derek answered for her. “She got it right the first go.”

Lydia and Boyd stripped off their outer layers of clothing, and revealed form fitting leotards underneath. Stiles now understood why there had been a pair of speedos covertly deposited onto his bed that morning. With Stiles watching, Lydia extended her arms, lifted her head, and smoothly transformed into a bird. She took to the air and landed on Allison’s shoulder, where Allison had strapped a handling saddle. Allison even had a rough leather glove on one hand for Lydia to stand on with her talons. Holy hell.

That was inexcusably hot.

Stiles cleared his throat as Lydia dismounted and gracefully shifted back in front of the fire. She put her hands on her hips and waited. Impatiently.

Oh. She was waiting for Stiles.

Stiles got to his feet and kicked off his jeans and shoes, and flailed free of his shirt after some cursing. He piled his clothes on the ground by the fire, awkward in the black and blue jammer Lydia had provided for him. The clinging fabric stuck to his thighs, stopping just short of his knees. He looked like something out of a high school swimming anime. Only not nearly as buff.

Everyone’s eyes on him did not help his nerves. He closed his eyes, trying to get hold of the sensation of transforming once more. He hadn’t thought about it since Derek dragged him out of the forest, and he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to do this. But Lydia’s barrier was up this time. He’d be all right.

The ground rushed up at him as he fell forward on his front paws. Without his clothes, there was nothing to get tangled in, and he was spared the panic that had gripped him the first go. He tossed his head, and shook out his fur, and glanced around the campfire. Everyone stared at him, waiting for him to bolt.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said. Or tried to. It came out more like a strangled squeak, and he snorted in frustration. So he trotted over to Derek and pushed up against him, scent marking him like a cat would. Hah. This human was his. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Derek crouched to run his fingers through Stiles’ fur, and Stiles leaned into the touch. Oh. That was heavenly. He could do that forever. Possibly longer. Stiles grunted when Derek straightened, disappointed by the lack of fingers in fur.

Across the campfire, Lydia stood in front of Boyd, who’s face was lengthening and turning golden in the firelight. Two massive horns sprouted from just above his ears, and his body thickened. He fell forward on two front legs as his hands became hooves. When the transformation was complete, Stiles found himself staring at a fully formed, magnificent red stag.

Stiles’ jaw dropped, and Erica threw her arms around the stag’s chest. Lydia nodded, pleased with Boyd’s transformation, and said, “Okay. Pair off. Let’s give the animal forms a good run.”

Lydia turned into her hawk and flitted to Allison’s shoulder while Allison dismantled the anise rope barrier. Stiles was left with Derek. Not that he minded.

Stiles hopped in a circle around Derek’s legs, waiting until the barrier was down before darting into the forest. Derek’s strangled yell stopped him in his tracks, though, and he jerked around. Probably not with the taking off, then. He trotted back to Derek, tail low and ears flat. Derek scooped him up and held him close, and Stiles wriggled, kicking his legs in the air. Derek dragged his fingers across Stiles’ fur-covered belly, and Stiles’ world exploded in sensation.

He, honest to god, yipped, and flailed free of Derek’s arms. He crashed to the forest floor and ran three tight circles around Derek’s legs before leaping a few feet away, turning back to Derek to wait for him to catch up. Derek followed, this time, keeping his steps light as they pressed deeper into the Preserve.

As they walked, memories trickled back to Stiles from his time as a legit fox. He nosed around the forest floor, investigating trace scents that might be his. Retracing his time as a forest creature. Derek stuck close to him the entire time, providing steadying touches and comments.

Derek stilled when Stiles crossed some sort of unspoken boundary, and Stiles turned back to him, confused. Everything looked so different from the ground, it was impossible for him to tell where he was. He had a hard time as a human doing it. Derek’s gaze was fixated on something, and Stiles followed it to see the Hale House rising up out of the trees.

Oh.

Well. They didn’t have to go that way. Stiles turned around and backtracked, pausing only when he realised Derek was not following him. He stopped again, and that’s when he heard the second heartbeat. So familiar. He knew it. He had heard it before.

Derek’s breathing quickened, and a twig snapped in the distance. Not too distant. Very close. Too close. Stiles’ ears flicked back and he bared his teeth as the heartbeat approached too quickly. Dangerously.

Something launched out of the darkness and dragged Derek to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Stiles barked sharply, but Derek made no noise as he grappled with the person. It was a person. It was the same person Stiles had seen go into the House the night he first transformed.

“Stiles! Get out of here-” Derek ordered. A fist to his face cut him off, and oh _hell_ no. Stiles did not grow teeth and claws for nothing.

He threw himself at the attacker. Most likely axe murderer, but he was a fox with built in weapons, not a scrawny, defenseless human, and he sank his teeth into a buff, meaty shoulder.

The man howled and jerked away from Derek, trying to loosen Stiles’ jaws. Tactical error. Stiles couldn’t. Well he could. But when he did, the momentum sent him into a tree trunk, and he was pretty sure he heard something crack. Not good.

He got to his feet in time to see Derek deliver a well-placed kick to the axe murderer’s groin and scurried backwards on his elbows. He flipped himself and got to his feet, scooping Stiles up in one smooth motion, and took off into the forest.

The jostling irritated Stiles’ ribs, which he felt pretty certain were at least cracked from his impact with the tree. But they were moving away from the axe murderer, and towards the campsite. Towards safety. The barrier.

Derek dropped Stiles a little too harshly to the ground beside the fire and swiftly reconnected the anise rope barrier. The hum of magic activating filled the air, and settled along Stiles’ fur. Finished, Derek knelt in front of Stiles, who really couldn’t be bothered to move. “Stiles, change back.”

Ugh. Changing involved effort and effort involved pain. He wasn’t sure how he could change suffering cracked ribs without doing more damage. Derek cupped his muzzle between both hands. “Stiles, I can’t heal you in this shape. I don’t know how fox ribs are shaped. You need to change back.”

Stiles tugged his face free and concentrated. He felt the shift take root in his bones, his spine lengthening and fur receding. He rocked forward onto his hands and knees, gasping with a human voice as his ribs shifted and drove a spike of agony through his chest. But he managed it. He gripped sod between purely human fingers, and gritted his teeth. “Oh, that was such a bad idea.”

“Hold still.” Derek slid around him, and pressed his hands against Stiles’ chest. Stiles held himself carefully, barely breathing as the warmth of healing magic slid over his skin.

“We have to warn the others,” Stiles said. He released the breath he had been holding, and felt the pain ease away as Derek sat back.

“Put your shoes on first,” Derek said. He stood, and Stiles scrambled for his shoes and socks. Derek send up some sort of flare, straight up that burst against the black sky and showered sparks down on them. Stiles yanked his laces tight and pulled a shirt over his head as Allison and Erica crashed through the Preserve towards the site.

“Derek.” Allison waited for Derek to disable the barrier. Once they were all safely inside, Derek fixed the rope barrier and the magic slipped back into place. “What happened?”

“We were attacked,” Derek said.

“Yeah! And we totally kicked his butt!” Stiles punched the air. “I bit him. It was awesome.”

“That’s disgusting,” Lydia said when her mouth wasn’t a beak anymore. “Make sure you brush your teeth like, a million times.”

“Ew.” Stiles wrinkled his nose. He rolled his tongue over his teeth and grimaced. Gross.

“We should go back to the school. Call it a night. It’s too dangerous,” Derek said. Allison nodded and readied her bow, a bolt held in place.

“Right, fine. We’re ready anyway. Scott’s been drinking the potion on time. Tomorrow is the full moon. We’re ready.” Lydia shimmied into her clothes and slipped her heels on. She tossed Stiles’ bag at him.

He caught it in the chest, and turned to find Derek staring into the Preserve. He bumped Derek’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re only a few yards from campus. We’ll be safe.”

Derek shook his head. He inhaled sharply. “Stiles. You were right.”

He didn’t say anything more, because Lydia gestured for him to break the barrier so they could leave. Derek tugged the rope down and they ran.

Derek and Stiles slipped into Rickonson Hall under the assurance that Boyd, Erica, and Allison would walk Lydia back before heading to Ash Hall for the night. Allison was going to crash with Scott there, and Boyd claimed he spent almost as much time in Ash as he did in Sierra. So they disappeared into the darkness, and Derek guided him up to his room with a hand at the small of Stiles’ back.

When Stiles’ dorm room door was firmly closed, he turned to Derek. “What did you mean, I was right? Not that I could stand to hear that more from all of you, but I can’t remember a specific argument that I won by being attacked in the Preserve. Except maybe that it was a phenomenally bad idea to be there in the first place.”

“That was my uncle.”

The words slipped between them, almost too quiet for Stiles to hear. He froze, disbelief seeping into his veins like cold water. “Your uncle’s alive?”

“If you can call that living,” Derek said. He gave a mirthless chuckle and shook his head. “He’s gone. He didn’t recognise me. Half of his face was burned away-”

“It was dark,” Stiles said. “He may not have seen you. We can go back when it’s light, and see if we can find him again.”

Derek shook his head. “We have to tell someone. Stiles, who do you think bit Scott? My uncle is a bitten wolf. He’s the one mauling students. On and off the full moon. He has to be stopped. He has to be… put down.”

“He’s your family. There’s got to be a way to help him.” Stiles dropped his bag on the ground and kicked off his shoes. “I’m not going to let them take your family away. There has to be another solution.”

“He’s already killed someone, Stiles,” Derek said. “And destroyed Scott’s life. And he’s not going to stop. It’s instinct. He wants to share the pain. He won’t be able to stop.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” Stiles turned to Derek and grabbed his shoulders. “Let’s not think about that right now. We’ll get you through the full moon, and deal with it after. We’ll have Deaton with us on the full moon, so we’ll be safe. Do you think you can sleep? Classes start in a few hours.”

Derek nodded. “Get some rest.”

“You too.” Stiles tugged Derek onto the mattress with him, bracketing him in with his arms and legs. They settled uneasily, a weird tension between them. Stiles closed his eyes, hated it, and counted sheep until he fell asleep.

 

 

 

“What… What are you all doing here?” Scott glanced around the group gathered in the Preserve.

The full moon was set to rise in about an hour, and Lydia had insisted on beating Deaton to the Hale House. She pulled some strings, and Stiles, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Kira found themselves excused from class with very convincing illnesses that allowed them to meet up with time to spare.

“We’re here to help,” Lydia said. Scott frowned.

“I don’t know… How you can help. You’re doing as much as you can with the potion already…”

“Stiles,” Lydia commanded. Stiles sighed. Of course he’d have to be the first one to strip down in front of the teacher and reveal their super secret side project. Deaton, true to form, lifted an eyebrow at him. Stiles sighed again, long and heavy, and tugged his shirt over his head.

He kicked away his clothes into a messy pile and held his arms out, palms up. “Watch closely.”

And transformed.

He trotted up to Scott on all fours, nuzzling and poking at his jeans. The whole fox-brain thing was totally worth the look on Scott’s face when he picked Stiles up and peered into his fox eyes. “Dude. What?”

“Animagus,” Lydia announced, preening. “We learned. Werewolves only attack humans. If we’re not human, you won’t attack us. Therefore, we had to become not human.”

“Well done, Ms Martin,” Deaton said, and Stiles thought he detected a hint of awe in his voice. Stiles wuffed happily, flicking his tail to smack Scott’s hip.

“You did this for me?” Scott asked, looking around the group. Lydia’s curls bobbed.

“Well. I did it for the skillset. Stiles did it for you.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Scott clutched Stiles to his chest, a too-tight embrace that had Stiles squirming. He wriggled out of Scott’s arms and hopped over one shoulder to land squarely in Derek’s arms. Derek set him down gently, and he changed back, a grin wide across his face. “What up, bro? I’m a fox.”

Lydia groaned loudly and pressed a hand to her forehead as Scott swept Stiles into a rib-crushing hug. Able to return this one, Stiles grabbed him back.

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” Scott said.

“Yeah, dude. Anything.” Stiles thumped Scott’s back. “Anything.”

“I didn't’ think you were that smart, dude!” Scott leaned back with that dumb smirk on his face.

“I hate you sometimes, you know that, right?” Stiles said. “It’s more useless memorisation, and guess who has an immense capacity for that?”

“Advanced Transfiguration did help,” Lydia said. “With the trickier pieces of the shift. But the hardest part was learning the anatomy perfectly.”

“Wait.” Scott had that look. The one where he was trying to think. “When you vanished for three days… Was that-?”

“Yeah, the first time I tried a full shift it kinda backfired and I ended up as a legit fox.” Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair. “Awkward. Derek found me, though, and forced me to shift back. I’ve got it now.”

“What you kids have done is incredible dangerous,” Deaton said. “I’m going to have to report your Animagus forms to the Bureau.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Stiles said. He sighed. His father was going to kill him.

“You’re to be commended for your dedication to your friends, but this could have gone terribly wrong without proper supervision.” Deaton nailed all of them with his best Stern Look. “You got lucky that you were able to recover Mr Stilinski. Some wizards never regain their humanity after a mistake like that.”

“Um, I’m here, and I’m pretty fine.” Stiles waved at Deaton. “We can’t undo the past. So, are you going to write us up, or punish us, or whatever?”

“I can’t write you up if you aren’t doing anything wrong at the moment,” Deaton said. “Being an Animagi is not illegal. And seeing as I am here supervising this visit to the Preserve, I can’t very well punish you for being here. But I will be documenting your forms and adding them to your permanent files when we return to school.”

“Worst kept secret in school.” Stiles muttered under his breath. It was inevitable, he supposed. Deaton smiled.

“Shall we ready the site?” Deaton asked, effectively ending the subject.

Lydia and Allison helped Deaton draw the line in mountain ash, ringing the crumbling structure as the full moon drew closer. Allison and Isaac held open everyone’s bags while they stripped, methodically and without pretense, and they stuffed their clothes in the bags.

“Wow. Derek. This is what you’ve been doing the last few months?” Laura Hale stepped out of the Preserve and tugged her shirt off. “You made some friends!”

“Laura…” Derek protested, but his sister just ignored him.

“That is fantastic. I can’t believe you’ve found a whole group of people that can put up with you!” She smiled and bumped shoulders with him. She threw her arms around his shoulders. “I’m joking, bro. I’m thrilled you’ve met people. It’s past time for you.”

Derek returned her hug, and she loosened her hold to turn to Deaton. “So what’s the plan this month?”

“The students have come up with a rather ingenious way of circumventing the violent nature of the bitten wolf,” Deaton said. “Three of them have mastered the Animagus spell, and will be joining you in the house.”

“I have super strength.” Erica pointed to herself. Boyd rolled his eyes at her. “What. I’m useful, okay?”

“Ms Reyes, Ms Yukimura, and Ms Argent will be guarding the line with me. Mr Lahey will stand with me and ensure the line is not broken anywhere during the full moon.” Deaton clasped his hands in front of him. “Does that sound appropriate?”

“Sounds like a party,” Laura said. She clapped her hands together. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna head in, kids?”

“You’re only five years older than me,” Derek said. Stiles thought he detected a pout, but it could have been a trick of the light.

“And I make every minute of those years count,” Laura said as she sashayed towards the ruins. Stiles elbowed Derek’s ribs.

“I like her,” he said. Derek’s face fell.

“Stiles!”

Stiles cackled and stumbled after Laura. She looked him up and down and laughed. “Nice trunks.”

Stiles slapped his lycra-clad thighs. He wiggled his butt for good measure. “You’re just jealous you can’t work these.”

“Jealous isn’t the word I’d use for it.” Laura laughed as they were joined by Lydia, Boyd, and Scott.

“Gross. Stop flirting,” Scott said, shoving Stiles as he walked past.

“Ew,” Stiles said. He hastily backed away from Laura. “No offense! But you’re not the Hale I’m after. Crap!”

“Is that so?” Laura followed him, her eyes flashing. “You’re crushing on my brother, then?”

“Laura. Please.” Derek appeared at her shoulder, his face pinched.

“This is gold.” Laura slung an arm around Derek’s shoulders. She patted one impeccably formed pectoral and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It’s okay, baby bro. I got this for you. Just leave everything to me.”

“Oh my god.” Derek dropped his face into his hands. And, yeah Stiles was totally laughing at him, but this was what family did. He took pity on Derek and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his sister.

“We’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?” Stiles said. Laura nodded and climbed the stairs after Scott and the others, preparing for the shift. “Are you ready?”

Derek rolled his shoulders and head, loosening tension. “Yeah. It helped. Last time.”

“Last time, what?” Stiles asked.

“With you close,” Derek said. Oh that’s right. Stiles had panicked and pet Derek like an overlarge dog. Well. He could do that again. Stiles smiled.

“I think we can arrange something.” He lay one hand on Derek’s chest, over his heart. Derek glanced at Stiles’ hand and then caught Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles forced himself to maintain eye contact when the change hit, driving Derek to his knees as his bones started shifting. Stiles kept his hand, open palmed, against Derek’s racing heart as fur raced across skin, sprouting in thick tufts that matted down into his thick pelt. Smoothing his other hand along Derek’s back, he helplessly made soothing noises and waited for the sick cracking of bones to cease.

The change finished, and Stiles had his arms around a fully wolfed out werewolf. He clung to Derek’s neck, just a little longer, until his shaking stopped. Scuffling came from above, and Derek’s ears went flat against his skull. He nudged Stiles with a cold, wet nose, and Stiles stood. He saw Scott loping along the second floor, heading for the stairs, and quickly changed.

Scott lumbered right up to him despite Derek’s threatening growl, and nosed at him. Stiles pawed Scott’s face because there would be absolutely no butt-sniffing, even between besties, thank you very much, and Scott snorted, nipping at his tail. Stiles jerked away, running in a tight circle once around Scott to distract him.

It worked. Scott spun around and chased Stiles’ tail around the first floor. Stiles darted under and around fallen beams and corroded floors, and he caught sight of Lydia perched on the second floor banister, looking down on them regally. Boyd was making his way down the stairs on hooved limbs.

And the night began.

Boyd and Stiles ushered Scott outside, to test if the potion had worked. Scott slowly wandered up to the mountain ash line, where Allison stood, bow in hand and arrow knocked. She held perfectly still as he sniffed at her, her eyes wide. Stiles could smell fear on her, but she was resolved not to move. Scott whined, setting his ears against his skull, and crouched on the ground in front of her.

“I do believe it worked,” Deaton said, moving to stand behind Allison. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she smiled. “Well done, kids. Well done.”

Stiles couldn’t contain himself and took off with a thrilled leap, Scott hot on his tail. He raced around the house and leaped over Derek’s back, dodging aside. Scott’s momentum took him directly into Derek and they tumbled head over heels, tangled up in each other, and Stiles ugly-laughed until Laura came at him with her tongue lolling. He scrambled away so quickly he actually Tokyo-Drifted a little in the leaves and dirt, before dashing into the house and up the stairs.

Laura pounded after him, which was probably not the best idea to lead an overlarge wolf around in the upper floor of a decrepit building, but Stiles wasn’t operating completely rationally. There was a larger predator very close to his hind legs and he preferred to get away ASAP.

Well he did, when the floor caved in beneath him and sent him and Laura tumbling two stories into the basement of the house. They both landed hard, dust, dirt, and wood collapsing around them. Laura grabbed at Stiles with her paws, tucking him safely under her until the house settled.

Stiles wriggled free when the wood stopped groaning around them, and shook his fur out. Laura nosed at him, checking for injury. He was fine. Just nauseated from his brief moment of free fall. He wobbled the first few steps, but other than that he was fine.

Not fine.

Something moved in the shadows. Stiles froze in place, ears tight against his skull. Behind him, Laura peeled her lips back in a growl. She stepped over him, bracketing him with all four legs. He was more than willing to let her as another werewolf rose from the shadows and snarled at them.

Stiles may be a fox, but if he got bit, he would still Turn.

Laura snapped at the strange wolf, and Stiles got the hell out of the basement. He heard a scuffle behind him, but didn’t stop to see. He was small enough that he could climb the debris and wriggle through a small gap in the foundation of the building into open air.

He sprang across the lawn as fast as his legs would carry him. Something sprang from the ground behind him with a vicious, wet howl, and Stiles tumbled over the mountain ash line into Erica’s waiting arms. She scooped him up, ignoring him pawing at her shoulders and hair, and stepped back in time to witness the not-Scott werewolf slam against the protective barrier.

It bounced off, dazed, and tried to reach Erica again. The barrier forced it back, and it turned teeth and claws towards Derek and the others, who had come to see what the trouble was.

“Look out!” Erica called, her fingers digging into Stiles’ fur. “It went after Stiles!”

Meaning. It wasn’t a normal wolf. It was going to hurt them.

Lydia and Boyd sped for the barrier. Derek and Scott were trapped.

The bitten wolf lurched for them and Derek met him before he could take a swing at Scott. Derek dragged him to the ground, forcing him to fight than go after Scott. Stiles could hear tearing flesh and grinding teeth from where he was and it made him mad with helplessness.

He forced himself to concentrate and shifted back, and Erica gasped when she found herself with an armful of Stiles. “Erica! Put me down!”

She grinned and dropped him, and he scrambled to his feet in time to see Allison lift her bow and fire a shot into the werewolf tussle. “No! Allison! Stop!”

“I’m not going to kill them, Stiles,” Allison said through gritted teeth. She fired another shot. “I’m trying to disable the strange one.”

“You’re going to hit Derek.” Stiles stalked over to her, ignoring twigs and sharp rocks that dug into his bare feet.

“If you don’t distract me, I won’t hit Derek,” Allison said, exhaling slowly as she loaded another arrow. Stiles glanced between her and the fight. Lydia and Boyd shifted to their human form behind her, quiet.

Stiles fell back, and Lydia placed a freezing hand on his arm, gripping him tight. He covered her hand with his, and Allison fired once more.

The strange werewolf went down with a yelp, a bolt protruding from his shoulder. Derek kicked and clawed his way out from under the body and limped towards the mountain ash barrier. He walked four steps before an arrow sliced through the air and lodged in his chest. He collapsed to the dirt.


	12. The Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles? Is she breathing?” Allison asked sharply.
> 
> Stiles forced his own lungs to expand, and pressed two fingers the juncture at Lydia’s jaw. He felt a thready, erratic pulse. But a pulse. “She’s alive. Where is it?”
> 
> “I don’t know,” Allison said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were fixed to the tree line, waiting for movement. “We aren’t safe here.”
> 
> Something cracked in the treeline, and Allison loosed an arrow before Stiles could see who or what it was.
> 
> Luckily for them, Kira had headed up the group. Allison’s arrow struck Kira in the chest, surely a kill shot for anyone else. Kira just grunted and yanked the arrow out. “Rude.”

Stiles’ world narrowed.

He tore free of Lydia’s grasp and bolted to Derek’s side. He pressed his hands to the wound as hot blood leaked through his fingers. “No, no. No. _Derek_. Please.”

Derek’s chest rose and fell, but it had a wet, slushy sound to it, and Stiles couldn’t stop the bleeding. It pooled under his knees no matter how hard he pushed, and hands grabbed his shoulders. He shrugged them off, but Erica was hauling him away as Deaton took his place. Deaton. Deaton would help.

“Stiles! Get down.” Erica threw him to the ground and he gasped, the air punched out of him. She ducked next to him, and an arrow sank into the ground right beside his head. Stiles saw Allison firing into the Preserve, and Boyd disappeared into the brush in his stag form. “Nope. Get up again. Come on.”

Another arrow snaked through the air, narrowly avoiding them both as Erica jerked him up. She kept a vice grip on his arm as she dragged him into the house, to the shelter of the walls. Arrows couldn’t get through them. They dropped to the ground, panting hard. Stiles pressed his shoulders to the wall and tried to think.

“Who is shooting at us?” Stiles asked.

Erica shook her head. “I don’t know. It came out of the forest. I couldn’t see.”

“Who is that other werewolf?” Stiles asked. He pressed his head hard to the wall, trying to clear his thoughts.

“I don’t know! I’m just here for the eye candy. Damn it, Stiles.” Erica lifted her eyes skywards. She rolled her head to look at Stiles.

He poked his head out from behind the wall and saw Allison standing over Deaton and Derek. Scott was nowhere to be seen. Lydia was gone. The other werewolf was gone. Stiles could see the crushed grass it had dragged itself over. The path led to the forest. That meant the line was broken.

“I so did not think I would go out like this,” Erica said, under her breath. She scowled and rummaged through the pockets in her leather jacket. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders as she dipped her head, searching for something they could use. She squealed happily and yanked something out of her pocket.

“What is it?” Stiles asked. Erica rolled her eyes.

“Locusts,” she said, flashing her teeth. In her palm, several dark marbles rolled.

“They look like marbles,” Stiles said.

Erica’s shoulders slumped, exasperated. “Are you a wizard or not?”

She tossed the marbles over the wall edge and they rolled into the grass. Before Stiles’ eyes, thick clouds of buzzing insects spewed from the marbles, like they had been shrunk down to fit and were able to expand now. The clouds swarmed towards the tree line and vanished, though the sound of their chirping and buzzing was deafening.

The arrows stopped.

"Where did you-" Stiles swallowed hard. "Why?"

Erica sneered. "Ash Hall. You think I walk anywhere without some sort of prank up my sleeve? I love seeing freshman scurry."

Stiles and Erica clambered out from behind the wall and staggered to Allison and Deaton. Deaton’s hands were covered in blood, and Erica kept a tight grip on Stiles to prevent him from falling to his knees. Stiles swallowed hard. “How is it?”

“He’s breathing,” Deaton said. “I have to get him back to the school.”

“They’ve stopped firing, but not for long.” Allison crouched beside Deaton, her eyes firm on the forest. “We need to take cover.”

“We can’t take Scott back to the school,” Stiles said. Deaton appeared ruffled for the first time since Stiles had met him, and it disquieted him.

“I can carry Derek back,” Erica said. She knelt beside Derek and tucked her head. Before anyone could stop her, she hefted Derek’s enormous bulk over her shoulders, gripping his legs in her hands. A scarf of werewolf, Stiles thought hysterically. “Vernon can escort me.”

As if summoned, Boyd appeared out of the Preserve, nipping a locust out of his still magnificent hide. He shook his head and trotted to them. Erica smiled when he inclined his head towards her. Deaton stood and wiped his hands in his trousers.

“Go carefully,” Deaton said.

Erica nodded and Boyd led the way back into the Preserve. Stiles watched until they were out of sight. He stilled. “Where’s Lydia?”

Allison’s head whipped around. “I thought she was with you!”

“No.” Stiles’ breath quickened. “Who saw her last?”

Kira skipped out of the Preserve, hair wildly tumbling around her shoulders. An arrow poked out of one shoulder blade, and her face glowed. “What’s up, guys? What is it? I just fought off the most huge wolf I’ve ever seen-”

“Kira there’s an arrow in your shoulder,” Stiles said. He reached for it, hesitated, and tucked his hand under his arm with a wince.

Kira glanced at it, twisting her head to see. “Oh.”

She reached for it and yanked hard. Stiles yelped, and Allison barely suppressed her gasp. There was no blood on the arrow tip. Kira grinned and tossed it over her shoulder. “Kitsune charm, remember? It’s like armour, all over. I’m fine. Really. But the wolf was so weird. It had something in its mouth. Like, a bird or something.”

Stiles grabbed Kira’s shoulders. He felt the burn of the charm under his palms. “Which way did it go?”

“It went towards the lake.” Kira pointed. “North.”

“Stiles!”

Stiles ran.

The moon was on its way down, so he ran with it to his left, through the Preserve. He came across nothing he could see, no sign of Lydia or the werewolf- Derek’s uncle. Uncle Peter. It had to be.

The forest fell away and he slid to a halt. Allison skidded behind him, panting hard. She lifted her bow, pointing an arrow out towards the glittering surface of the lake. Stiles’ breath caught. “Lydia.”

They ran forward. Stiles, incautiously. Allison kept her bow up and ready as they moved, to cover them.

Stiles fell to his knees beside Lydia, unconscious and bleeding from multiple slices and abrasions. He didn’t know where to touch, his hands hovered over her silent body, shaking.

“Stiles? Is she breathing?” Allison asked sharply.

Stiles forced his own lungs to expand, and pressed two fingers the juncture at Lydia’s jaw. He felt a thready, erratic pulse. But a pulse. “She’s alive. Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Allison said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were fixed to the tree line, waiting for movement. “We aren’t safe here.”

Something cracked in the treeline, and Allison loosed an arrow before Stiles could see who or what it was.

Luckily for them, Kira had headed up the group. Allison’s arrow struck Kira in the chest, surely a kill shot for anyone else. Kira just grunted and yanked the arrow out. “Rude.”

Deaton walked out of the shadows behind her, and hurried to Lydia’s side. He tipped her chin up and pushed blood-stained hair back from her face. He shook his head. “This is getting out of control. I’m going to have to call for help.”

“Sooner would be better,” Allison said. She fixed her eyes on the treeline again, crossbow tight against her shoulder.

Deaton drew his wand and whispered something. A feathery light wisped from the tip of his wand, and coalesced into the form of an owl. The owl took flight and cut through the sky towards school.

Kira took up position beside Allison, her katana ready in her hands. Deaton did what he could to stop Lydia’s bleeding, sealing the worst of the injuries. Stiles provided the extra set of hands when he needed it. Help, whoever Deaton had called, was taking much too long.

And then, help arrived.

Someone flew over the trees, escorted by Deaton’s Patronus. Stiles watched the figure skim the ground and come to a halt beside Kira. The moonlight revealed Ms Marin Morrell, stepping off her broom. Her lips pulled thin as she took in the scene around them.

“Not your best plan ever, Alan,” she said. She crouched beside Deaton and leveled an unimpressed glare at him.

“There were complications,” Deaton said. “Two students are still at the House.”

Ms Morrell lifted an eyebrow. “Unprotected?”

“There is an omega class werewolf loose in the forest and this girl needs medical attention,” Deaton said. “We were attacked by at least two hunters.”

“Two?” Allison spared a glance at them. “I only saw one line of shooting.”

“I sensed at least two in the initial attack,” Deaton said. “And there may have been a third, but I can’t be sure. There was too much magic to be certain.”

“Lower the wards, and Apparate her into the hospital,” Ms Morrell said. Deaton nodded. They locked hands briefly, and then Deaton lifted Lydia from the ground.

Deaton and Lydia disappeared, Apparating away with a pop. Stiles turned to see Ms Morrell calmly removing the head of her broom to reveal a long blade. His jaw dropped. She smirked at him. “Did you think I would come to a fight unarmed? Come, Mr Stilinski. We both know you’re smarter than that.”

“I… didn’t know you could fight,” Stiles admitted.

“We shall see,” Ms Morrell said. She turned her attention to the forest, coolly focused. “Ready for the walk back?”

Stiles and his squishy self walked back in the centre of a triangle, points formed by Allison and Kira, with Ms Morrell in the lead. Around them, the forest was deathly quiet. The moon shone brightly overhead, considerably lower. It would soon set, but they had another hour at least.

They reached the Hale House without incident, and Stiles broke away to find Scott and Isaac. He discovered them huddled in the basement, a perfect line of mountain ash surrounding them. Isaac watched him approach with haunted eyes.

“Ms Morrell’s here to help us,” Stiles said. He kept his voice low as silence pressed in around them. “You can break the line.”

Isaac slowly toed the line and scuffed it out. Stiles held his hand out, and Isaac clasped it. Stiles helped pull him to his feet, and Scott carefully unfolded long, lupine limbs and crawled out from where he had been tucked under a fallen bit of flooring.

Kira and Allison joined them, with Ms Morrell close behind. Scott’s ears went back suddenly, and Stiles whirled to see the strange werewolf slinking towards them in the shadows. Ms Morrell stepped between them and the werewolf, and spun the stave. The blade whistled through the air, and she jabbed it at the werewolf.

The fight was brief. Ms Morrell laid several, precise strikes with the blade, and then, in one, sweeping motion, dragged the blade through the werewolf’s middle, cutting it in two. The creature fell to the floor, writhing and gurgling.

Stiles pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and tried not to vomit.

Ms Morrell calmly wiped the blood from her stave and lowered it. She turned to them, a bit of blood on her shoulder. “Everyone all right?”

“Yes,” Allison answered for all of them. Stiles wasn’t sure he could speak.

“Let’s return to ground level, then, shall we?” Ms Morrell started to climb up the destroyed staircase to the first floor of the house.

Allison lifted her chin, grasped Kira’s hand, and followed. Stiles, Isaac, and Scott went after them, one at a time up the decrepit stairs. They spent the rest of the long night huddled in the main foyer, trying not to make noise.

When the moon finally set, and Scott was returned to his human form, Allison and Isaac flanked him. Stiles salvaged one of their supply bags and found a blanket that wasn’t covered in dirt to toss over Scott’s head.

“Let’s go back,” Ms Morrell said.

She led them through the forest on foot, silent and exhausted in the dawning light of the sunrise. By the time they reached the medical building, the landscape was awash in pink and gold. Stiles just wanted to sleep forever. Ms McCall pursed her lips when they trudged in. She quickly motioned Allison, Isaac, and Scott into a room before taking Stiles’ elbow.

“Is Derek-?” Stiles asked.

“He’s recovering,” Ms McCall said. Which. That meant it had been bad.

“Can I see him?” Stiles tugged her to a halt. She frowned.

“Stiles, you need a shower, and rest. He’s not going anywhere,” she said. “You can take care of yourself first.”

“I need to see,” Stiles said. He took a deliberate breath. “The last- I saw of him he had an arrow in his chest.”

Ms McCall nodded, pressing her lips together. She pushed a hand through his hair and conceded. “Okay. Come with me.”

She led him to a patient ward, and quietly eased the door open. She put a finger to her lips, and nodded towards the room. Leaning over the threshold, Stiles saw Derek laying in a hospital bed, deathly still under white sheets. Stepping closer, he reached for Derek’s arm. It was warm and solid under his fingers, and Stiles watched him breathe before letting his gaze settle on the heart monitor hovering over his chest. It was pulsing, slow and steady.

“Stiles, honey, let’s get you to bed,” Ms McCall said from the door, her voice soft.

Blinking hard against the sudden burning sensation behind his eyes, Stiles nodded. He let Ms McCall put an arm around his shoulders and escort him to another room, with a shower and bed. The hot water made him feel human again, less like a crushed leaf smeared in blood and dirt, and he collapsed into bed without the energy to even turn off the light.

 

 

 

“Stiles.”

Stiles rolled over, grunted, and tried to ignore the rasping voice intruding on his sleep.

“Stiles.”

He peeked an eye open, and then shot up in bed. Derek hung in the doorway, leaning heavily against the wall for support. “You shouldn’t be up. You look like shit. Oh my god. Ms McCall is going to kill you.”

“Laura’s missing.” The words punched out of Derek’s chest. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the wall. “I can’t find her, Stiles.”

Stiles stumbled out of bed and moved to Derek’s side, supporting him with a hand at his waist. “We’ll find her. Did you talk to Deaton yet?”

“He hasn’t had contact with her since the attack last night.” Derek turned bloodshot eyes to him. Stiles bit his lip. He was about to say something when Allison turned the corner and strode towards them.

“Stiles, my aunt and grandfather are up to something,” she said, lowering her voice. She flicked her eyes to Derek before catching Stiles’. “In the basement. It was them, last night. My father was out there too. He followed them, and saw them shooting at us, but before he could stop them, the rabid wolf started attacking.”

“We’ll go to the basement,” Stiles said. He pinned Derek with a Look. “Go back to bed.”

“If they have my sister, I’m not going to leave her,” Derek said.

“You’re no help to her if you fall over when you sneeze,” Stiles said. “We can handle it.”

“No.” Derek ground the word out. “She’s all I have left.”

Cold seeped in to Stiles’ chest, and he felt weirdly settled. Like he knew what had to be done, and how to do it to make all of this right. So Derek knew about his uncle.

“Okay. You can come.”

“Stiles,” Allison started. She closed her mouth when Stiles glared at her.

“I know, but he’s just going to follow us anyway. This way we can at least try to protect him.” He was the target, she would have said. Putting him in harm’s way would give Gerard what he wanted.

But Derek was right. And Stiles knew how he felt.

Allison sighed, and lifted her shoulders. “Scott and Isaac are waiting outside. There’s still two hours before class starts. It should be easy to avoid anyone.”

“Let me get my bat,” Stiles said.

 

 

He gripped his bat firmly between both hands, and stood to one side of the forbidden basement door. Scott and Derek stood on the other, and Allison was at Stiles’ back. Stiles took a deep breath and twisted the handle on the door.

Unlocked.

...That was weird-

The door knob ripped out of Stiles’ hand, and a flash of smoke blinded him. He choked, coughing around acrid smoke in his mouth, and stumbled back.

“ _Incarcerous_.”

Rope lashed around Stiles’ arms and chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He lost his balance, and another length of rope snaked around his ankles. He crashed hard to the ground and just barely avoided cracking his skull on linoleum flooring.

Allison cried out somewhere over him, and when he could finally see again he stilled.

Kate Argent held Allison on her knees by her hair. Derek and Scott were trussed up and on the ground just like Stiles. Gerard Argent stood over both of them, wand in hand and a sneer on his face.

Movement in the room caught Stiles’ attention, and he saw someone on top of the tree stump that took up the centre of the room. Laura Hale twisted on the stump, lashed down by her ankles and wrists that held her, spread-eagled, against the dead wood.

Ritual sacrifice of an alpha without pack ties.

The door behind Stiles slammed shut, and the lock clicked in its wake. Kate Argent’s foot planted heavily in the centre of his back, keeping him on the floor and fighting for breath. He watched Gerard slide a broadsword from the table and approach Derek and Scott.

“Gift wrapped, thank you, darling,” Gerard said to Kate.

“Of course,” Kate replied. She pressed down harder on Stiles’ spine, and he groaned.

“Hold still and this will be quick,” Gerard said. He stood in front of Derek and lifted the sword over his head. "We should have done this from the start."

“Grandpa! Please!” Allison gasped when Kate wrenched her head back further. “Please, don’t. Please don’t kill him.”

“It’s for the best, dear,” Gerard said. “Werewolves aren’t to be accepted into society. They are dangerous to everyone around them. And the alpha’s sacrifice will grant us unfathomable power. Enough to stop any number of Dark Lords and supernatural creatures. Just be patient.”

And he heaved the sword down.

In moments of panic, Stiles welcomed the human brain’s ability to watch the horror unfold slowly. To give each second a minute. A minute an hour. To slow the movements around him until all he could focus on was the inevitable direction of the blade as it cut through the air towards Derek.

But it gave him time to drag every fiber of his being to sheer, mind numbing desperation, and with the panic tied tight around his lungs, Apparated.

Sound resumed. Stiles could breathe again. No. Not breathe. But the boot on his spine was gone.

His side tore open, and for one hazy, inconceivable moment he thought he had splinched himself. Untrained Apparation. He’d left his legs behind?

Oh. No. That was a sword.

He’d landed atop Derek, and the strike meant for him had carved into Stiles’ chest, just under his ribs.

The sound of the door being smashed in reached him over the roar of blood in his ears. Someone grabbed his shoulders and jostled him. Snaps of agony rolled through him and he choked back a scream. Derek's face swam into his line of sight, graying out and fuzzing around the edges as Stiles gasped for air. Blood welled in the back of his throat and he couldn't _breathe_ -

"Stiles. Stiles!" Derek grabbed his chin, holding his head steady. "Stay with me. _Please_ \- Oh god-"

" 'sokay-" Stiles managed. Blood slipped from his mouth. He wanted to reach out, to wipe away the panic in Derek's eyes. " 'sokay- Sourwolf-"

He was cold. So cold. He couldn't feel anything except the cold bite of air in his throat, as colour faded. He tried, he really did, to fight the encroaching blackness clouding his vision. He couldn't, and he sank into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those of you who have noticed, yes, we are getting to the end. there will be one short chapter after this, and an epilogue! thank you so much for sticking with me for the story. it's been fantastic to have you all. again, you can find me on tumblr @merfolkish and lj @tresa_cho


	13. When Everything's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery sucks. Feels-talk sucks more.

Waking reminded him of the time he had gone too deep in the pool, once, when he was young. Clawing for the surface, desperate, and the sheer relief when his face touched cool air. His eyes opened.

Except instead of the sun, the harsh light of the hospital building greeted him. He sucked in a breath and shifted. A sharp twinge of pain ricocheted through his body, radiating out from his side and he groaned.

“Stiles?”

Oh crap.

Stiles twisted his head and saw his dad sitting in the chair beside his bed. He dragged in another deep, steadying breath before opening his mouth. “Hey Dad.”

He was spared seeing tears in his dad’s eyes when he leaned forward and swept Stiles into a shoulder-crushing hug. Stiles clung to him, fingers digging into those stupid Bureau robes Dad was forced to wear. Dad held him close, and Stiles tucked his face into Dad’s neck and quietly cried.

Dad let him, and when Stiles was too exhausted to maintain his grip, he carefully extricated himself and sat on the edge of the bed. Dad left one hand on Stiles’ leg. “Do you realise how lucky you are?”

Stiles nodded, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

“Damn it, Stiles, what were you thinking? Why didn’t you go to a teacher?” Dad asked.

“There wasn’t time,” Stiles said. He carefully settled himself back down against the pillows, feeling his side pull with each breath. “He was going to kill Ms Hale.”

“Isaac had time to get a teacher,” Dad said. He tightened his grip on Stiles’ leg. “You’re all I’ve got, son. We made a deal, remember?”

“ ‘Don’t do anything stupid’,” Stiles quoted. He nodded. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Dad sighed and accepted the apology. He leaned forward, cupped Stiles’ head with a big, warm hand, and dropped a kiss to his forehead. Leaning back, he said, “If you’re up for it, there are some people who’d really like to see you.”

“Yeah.” Stiles exhaled. “I think I’d like that.”

Dad patted his thigh one more time before standing and opening the door. Scott, Allison, Isaac, Kira, Erica, Boyd, and Lydia spilled into the room in a jumble of colour, noise, and relieved smiles. Kira and Lydia slid onto the mattress on either side of him.

Scott hovered with Allison on one arm and Isaac perched at the other. His pale face stood stark against dark hair, and dark circles cradled his eyes. “Dude. You almost died.”

“True story,” Stiles said, trying to lighten the mood. “Can someone catch me up? I kind of fell asleep in the middle of everything.”

He didn’t mention the one person he most wanted to see. Most wanted to make sure was safe and whole.

“Isaac got Deaton, who got Allison’s dad. Boyd and Erica happened to see them going towards the basement and followed,” Scott said. “Gerard had sealed the door but Erica busted it open in time to stop the- the bleeding. Just tore it clean off the hinges, no need for unlocking.”

Erica grinned and flexed her bicep, leaning against Boyd. “No power in the ‘verse can stop me.”

“Oh, I’m in love with you,” Stiles said. Erica beamed and tucked her head on Boyd’s shoulder. “You know Firefly.”

“Gerard and Kate are custody,” Scott said. “Your Dad’s the one that’s going to bring them in. He was not happy.”

“Understandably,” Allison said. “It was bad for a bit, there, Stiles.”

“Wasn’t too pretty on my end either,” Stiles reminded them.

“Yeah! I didn’t know you could Apparate, dude,” Scott said.

Stiles resisted the urge to slap his head with his hand. “I can’t. It was a situational response type magic thing. I’m not getting arrested, am I?”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Dad said from his place at the door. “I checked myself.”

“Oh good. That would be really awkward. Save the school, get arrested for magical mispractice.” Stiles exhaled and closed his eyes. Just this little interaction had left him wiped. Lydia ran her fingers through his hair, soothing his growing headache.

“Lydia screamed so loud she lost her voice.” Kira tucked her head on his pillow and whispered to him.

“If only I were feeling up to taking advantage of that,” Stiles said. Lydia pinched him. Gently.

“Derek’s fine,” Kira said, her voice low in the space between them. Stiles turned to her. She nodded. “He’s being stupid. He didn’t leave your side for days.”

“Days!?” Stiles spluttered. “How long was I out!?”

“Five days,” Lydia said. And wow, her voice really was shot. The smoky quality had taken on a strained rasp, and up close, Stiles saw her face was paler than normal, and she looked tired.

“Five days sleeping and I’m still exhausted,” Stiles said.

Dad came to the bed then and helped Lydia from it, shooing everyone away and out the door. Blessed silence fell, and Stiles relaxed. Dad closed the door and returned to the chair beside the hospital bed. He said, “They’ll wait outside for you. They’ve been in and out between classes and after hours. You are one lucky boy.”

“Yeah.” Stiles closed his eyes and let the words sink in. Let himself feel Kira and Lydia’s residual warmth. Let himself know that they were worried about him. That they cared. Dad pressed a hand to Stiles’ forehead.

“Rest, son.”

 

 

The room was dark when he woke next, and Stiles shifted, testing the limits of his healing body. A hand against his sternum made him pause, and he followed the limb to see Derek, sitting on the floor- well, sprawled really- by his bed. His breath caught.

“You’re okay,” Stiles said, well aware of his father napping in the chair on his other side.

“I’m okay?” Derek’s eyes pinched at the corners. He exhaled harshly. “You’re the one who jumped in front of a broadsword.”

Stiles reached for Derek’s hand and tangled their fingers together. He tugged Derek closer, so the cadence of their voices wouldn’t wake his father. “Only almost accidentally. I had to save you. I would have preferred if the sword had exploded.”

“The blade cut to your spine,” Derek said. He stared at some point in the distance, as if seeing it happen all over again. His grip on Stiles’ hand was painfully tight, and his voice shook. “There was so much blood. I felt your heart stop, Stiles.”

Stiles cupped the back of Derek’s neck with his free hand and drew his head down to press his forehead against Derek’s. “I’m alive. We’re both alive. Everyone got out of this okay. We’re okay.”

Stiles ignored Derek’s hitching breaths, the way he squeezed their joined hands. Derek ignored Stiles’ thumb at the pulse point just under his jaw, and the way his skin smelled like salt. It was somehow more intimate than kissing.

Pulling Derek closer, Stiles reached around his shoulders and tucked his face in the crook of Derek’s throat. Derek returned the hug fiercely, almost dragging Stiles off the bed in his efforts. Derek shook in his arms, and Stiles pressed his face to hot skin, sucking in ragged breaths.

Pressing a line of kisses up Stiles’ throat, Derek turned Stiles’ face in his hands, capturing Stiles’ mouth in a messy, desperate kiss. Stiles leaned into it, fingers tracing Derek’s jaw, guiding him to deepen the kiss. Derek’s lips slid past his, and he breathed hotly against Stiles’ cheek. His words pressed into Stiles’ skin like hot brands. “I lost you.”

“No, no.” Stiles leaned into the touch. He held Derek tight to him and whispered soothing nonsense against his skin. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

When he woke the next morning, his head was cradled in Derek’s hands and their foreheads were stuck together. Stiles gently extricated himself and turned onto his back. He locked eyes with his dad, who was awake and staring at him.

His dad lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head to Derek. Stiles shifted his gaze from Derek back to his father, and tried to paste the most innocent expression on his face he could manage. Dad was unconvinced, and did a complicated eye-widening eyebrow-wiggling expression. Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Dad leaned close and kept his voice low. “He’s almost twenty.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Stiles said back.

“There better not be,” Dad said. He leaned closer still. “I am the law.”

Stiles groaned. “I told you to stay away from those Dredd comics.”

Derek twitched and rolled his head on the mattress before waking. He blinked fuzzily, surprise in his expression as he took in his surroundings. Stiles couldn’t help petting Derek’s ruffled hair, making it stick up further. Derek scowled at him and tugged his head away.

“Sir.” Derek nodded to Dad. Stiles glanced between them, lifting an eyebrow.

“He very possibly saved your life, son,” Dad said. “He gets a gold star in my book. That doesn’t mean I want you messing around with him, though, so keep it in your pants.”

“Dad! Holy god.” Stiles buried his face in his hands as he felt his cheeks heat. “Please stop.”

“No. It’s my job to embarrass you forever,” Dad said. “To prevent you from making poor life decisions.”

“What? Derek is not- We are not having this discussion,” Stiles said. He sliced his hand through the air definitively. Dad opened his mouth and Stiles held up a finger. “Ah! No. In private. Much later.”

To his credit, Dad said nothing more. Didn’t even lift his eyebrow when Stiles’ hand found Derek’s hair again. Continued to fiercely ignore when Derek leaned into the touch and tucked his face against Stiles’ arm, breathing rough and uneven. He took Stiles’ free hand in both of his, and they sat, quietly, as Stiles drifted in and out of sleep.

They released him a few days later, when they were sure his blood was everywhere it was supposed to be- not in his lungs, on the floor, or all over Derek’s hands. It took all of his strength to make it up the Rickonson stairs into his room, and collapse into bed with Derek curled around him.

Derek bundled the sheets around him, creating a nest of warmth that Stiles immediately relaxed into, gripping Derek’s thickly muscled arms around him. Stiles inhaled and burrowed further into Derek’s warmth. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Derek pressed the word into the back of his neck, his arms tightening slightly.

“Derek-” Stiles swallowed hard. “He was your family-”

“Not now,” Derek insisted. “I don’t- can’t. Not now.”

“Okay. Okay.” Stiles dragged his fingers along Derek’s arm. “You know my dad was kidding, right. About the poor life decision thing. You’re not- He didn’t mean-”

“He’s right.” Derek nuzzled behind Stiles’ ear.

“No, no. He’s not right. You- Shut up, Derek. None of this was your fault. None of it. So stop. I know it’s hard, but you have to stop.” Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s arm and gave a little shake. “This? This is my choice. You’re not bad. Or dangerous. Or a freaking ‘poor life decision’.”

“You’re fifteen, Stiles.” Derek’s breath was unbearably hot against his throat.

“I’m fifteen and I was sliced in half with a sword,” Stiles said. Derek flinched, a full body thing, and Stiles felt guilt slick through his stomach. He closed his eyes against it. “That was a poor life choice. You? This? Whatever this is. This is not… It is not poor. At all.”

The silence between them grew, stifling, and Stiles shifted restlessly. He sighed heavily. Derek’s hand was heavy over his heart, which thrummed in his chest as he took a deep breath. “But you’re graduating.”

And there it was. The silence had weight now, settling firmly against him and making it hard to breathe.

“That’s not-” Derek shifted behind him, and Stiles was torn between the urge to squeeze closer and the growing need to free himself. “Stiles.”

“No. It’s okay. I get it. I wouldn’t-” Stiles tried to push himself up but Derek kept him in place with his stupid muscles. Stiles collapsed against him, out of breath. “Let go.”

“I’ll let go if you want me to, but you’re not hearing me. It’s not because you’re too young-”

“You just said-”

“Not- That’s not what I meant.” Derek huffed in frustration and turned Stiles in his arms until they were facing. Stiles pressed his lips into a thin line. “You have your life. School. A future.”

“You have a future too, damn it, Derek.” Stiles shoved him, weak without leverage. “You want to get a degree in literature for god’s sake. You want to go to college, you told me yourself. So don’t give me that crap.”

“I don’t want you to put your life on hold for-” Derek cut himself off.

“Finish the sentence,” Stiles said in a low voice.

Derek sighed. “For someone like me.”

Stiles tipped his head forward and rested his forehead against Derek’s chest. “One day, I will beat the self-deprecation out of you. After like six million burgers. And a metric ton of curly fries. So what, everything that happened- You’re just going to pretend it didn’t?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“That’s what it’s sounding like. Tell me what you need, Derek. I’m not a mind reader.” Stiles met Derek’s gaze and held it.

“I need to know that you’ve had the chance to choose for yourself,” Derek said. “I need to know that… that I’m not-”

- _her_.

Stiles twisted his fingers in Derek’s shirt and breathed through the admission. “Okay.” He inhaled to steady himself. “Here’s what we’ll do. You will go to college. I’ll graduate here, go to college. We’ll meet back up in five years, and see. Okay, but- You have to keep in touch. You have to.”

_Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you._

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying it. Because if he did, he knew Derek would disappear. “And I’m going to your graduation. So deal with it.”

“Stiles, the whole school attends graduation,” Derek said with a fond smile.

“Yes, but now you’ll have your own cheering section.” Stiles burrowed into Derek’s chest, wrapping his arms around him. “I can probably convince my dad to show up, too.”

Derek hummed and pressed his face to Stiles’ hair.

 

 

They survived to graduation. Stiles hooted and yelled when Derek crossed the stage to collect his wand and diploma, rising up out of his chair alongside Scott and Kira. Derek flushed brightly under his peaked black hat, and waved at them as he returned to his seat. If asked, Stiles would have to admit that Derek looked utterly ridiculous in the formal wizarding robes, but nobody asked, and, quite frankly, everyone on stage looked ridiculous. Including the teachers.

When the ceremony was over, Stiles ran at Derek, throwing his arms around him. Derek caught him and spun him around once before setting him on his feet. Stiles laughed and waggled his eyebrows. “Can I play with your wand?”

“Jesus.” Dad covered his eyes with his hand and heaved a long-suffering sigh as he approached from behind Stiles.

“It was a joke!” Stiles yelped.

Lydia, Kira, Scott, and Allison trickled over, bright smiles on all their faces. Kira looped her arms around Derek’s waist. “Congrats, dude! We made it to graduation!”

“Yeah.” Derek grabbed her close and pressed a smiling face to her hair. Dad clapped Derek on the shoulder.

Everyone started wandering towards the massive banquet tables, but Derek held Stiles back with a light touch on his elbow. Stiles turned to him, and Derek smiled.

“I got accepted to Sarah Lawrence,” Derek said.

“Oh my god.” Stiles grabbed both Derek’s arms and shook him. “Oh my god. Derek!”

Derek returned Stiles’ grin, and Stiles started laughing. “Oh my god, Derek, that’s amazing!”

Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s shoulders and dragged him in. Derek gripped him back, smothering a laugh against Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m going to college.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Stiles said. He closed his eyes against the knowledge that the school was in New York. The other side of the country. But this was what Derek wanted. And Stiles still had school.

He gripped Derek’s shoulders and pulled away. “But you’re writing every day, you understand me? Every day.”

Derek grinned and nodded. “Yeah. I promise.”


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, remember when you knocked over three chairs in the diner to get to Derek?” Erica asked, an evil glint in her eyes.
> 
> “Please do not go over that story again. For the fiftieth time,” Stiles said with a groan. He fell onto his back on the floor and covered his eyes with his hand. “It was not three.”
> 
> “It was.”

Stiles trotted up to the door and stood on the landing, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Give me a sec, Stiles.” Derek’s voice issued from the speaker fixed to the wall beside the door and Stiles nodded. He tapped his foot. Rolled his head around and flexed his shoulders. Counted to ten. Failed to wait.

He drew his wand and bent over the lock.

“Stiles, swear to God, do not try picking that lock I am literally two seconds away from the door-”

Stiles rolled his eyes and whispered a Charm against the door. Nothing happened for a split second, long enough for Stiles to realise that the lock was one of Scott’s specialties.

“Eh, shit-” Was all he managed before he was blasted backwards off the porch and unceremoniously dumped on his ass in the lawn. He groaned, pain radiating up his spine, and winced when the front door yanked open with an angry sound.

“Stiles!”

“You didn’t tell me Scott worked your locks!” Stiles said. Okay, it was more of a whine, but he had also just been blasted off the deck of his boyfriend’s house.

“I told you to wait,” Derek said, with absolutely no sympathy.

Stiles sighed and stood, brushing grass and dirt off himself. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried dating. He had, he really had.

In his junior year, he had made his sexual debut with a fierce, amazing girl by the name of Malia Tate, a transfer into Beacon for one year. She was a force of nature, and Stiles would not have changed a thing about their brief, yet fulfilling, relationship. But she had wanted the world, and Stiles was content where he was. They parted ways with no hard feelings, and she still kept in touch.

After Malia skipped town, Stiles and Kira fell into this weird, epic, amazing friends with benefits that everyone was jealous of. Everyone. Even Deaton, who had caught them making out in a closet once, had seemed impressed at their ability to function while also having sex whenever they felt like it. And Kira became Stiles’ best friend, next to Scott, and Stiles had his nose broken more than once in her defense.

Derek gripped Stiles close when he stepped back onto the porch, and tucked his nose against Stiles’ throat. “You smell like Kira.”

“Yeah, she was taking a nap when I left. She has a big convention this weekend. She’s been wiped preparing for it,” Stiles said. “Her comics store has really taken off.”

“That’s great.” Derek led Stiles into the modest house and shut the door behind them, activating the lock once again.

“Stiles!” Twin calls of his name rose up from the sunken living room, and Stiles hopped up to see over Derek’s shoulder. Erica and Boyd sat entwined on the loveseat, waving at him.

“Hey guys! Didn’t know you’d be here.” Stiles hopped down the two stairs into the living room and clasped both their hands in greeting. “How’s school?”

“Great, going great,” Erica said. “I start my internship at the hospital this summer. Boyd is going to go for his bar exam after school.”

“God, you guys are too smart. Stop.” Stiles threw himself on the floor at Boyd’s feet. “Are you here for the weekend again?”

“Yup. I have a test Monday, before break, and Vernon is going to see his family,” Erica said.

Stiles nodded, and Scott stepped out of the kitchen. He grinned at Stiles. “Hey, bro.”

“Hey, Scott. Where’s the dynamic duo?” Stiles craned his head and watched Scott take a seat on the couch.

“Upstairs, in their room, sleeping,” Scott said. He was still in his work overalls. Allison had been accepted to Harvard out of Beacon, and Scott and Isaac had followed her. Their weird, triptych thing worked for them. Scott had gotten an apprenticeship with a magical locksmith in the area. He was doing really well, and Allison and Isaac were on their ways to graduating college.

“Hey, remember when you knocked over three chairs in the diner to get to Derek?” Erica asked, an evil glint in her eyes.

“Please do not go over that story again. For the fiftieth time,” Stiles said with a groan. He fell onto his back on the floor and covered his eyes with his hand. “It was not three.”

“It was.”

She was referring to the instant that Stiles had seen Derek for the first time in almost four years. He, Scott, and Erica and Boyd had made a habit of meeting up at this gross, run down diner in north Jersey every other week (now that they were legally allowed to Apparate). Stiles had been sitting there, minding his own business, when all talk at the table stilled and everyone’s eyes turned toward the door. When Stiles looked up- he hates to admit, but it was pretty much something out of a Nicholas Sparks movie.

He threw himself at Derek, soaking wet from the random downpour, and hadn’t let go since.

“Definitely three,” Erica pressed. Stiles nudged her with his foot. She kicked him hard in the shins in return. He yelped indignantly.

“Children. Stop.” Derek entered the room balancing a few trays with a _Leviosa_. He set them down on the floor in front of the television- specially fitted by Stiles himself, thank you very much- that worked surrounded by magic. “What are we watching tonight?”

“I hope something with less blood and more decent story-telling,” Lydia said, entering the room holding the lock to Derek’s front door in hand. She tossed the lock at Scott. “Try harder.”

“Lydia! It took three days to work that spell!” Scott said. Whinged, really. Lydia just lifted an eyebrow.

“Then try _harder_. Derek isn’t making any friends out there, fighting for werewolf rights. He needs all the protection he can get.” She started to sit down on the couch, and Scott hastened to get out of her way.

“Speaking of,” Stiles said as Derek sat on the floor beside him. “How is your article on the Standheim Massacre going?”

Derek took a deep, steadying breath, and exhaled slowly. He looked at Stiles with a gentle smile. “The editor says it might make the front page.”

“No.” Stiles gasped. Derek couldn’t contain his grin.

“It would be the first major publishing of a werewolf mass killing in history outside of Nazi Germany,” Derek said. Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s shoulders, nearly sending them to the ground in a flurry of popcorn and soda.

“That’s amazing! Oh my god. I’m so happy for you!” Stiles dragged Derek’s face in for a sloppy kiss, but before it could develop, Lydia stuck her foot between their faces.

“I came to watch a movie, not you two making out. Let’s get on with it.”

“Oh my god. Where’s Jackson? He usually keeps you entertained,” Stiles said.

“He’s in England for a conference. He’ll be back tomorrow.” Lydia turned her nose up and fixed her eyes on the screen, as if she could will the movie to start.

Stiles settled against Derek’s shoulder, and Derek turned the movie on.

He was roused sometime later, by Derek’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Time for good little magi-technicians to be in bed.”

“Oh, that’s me. Magical technician!” Stiles let himself be lifted, untangled from Lydia’s legs, and guided up the stairs. The house was like the Tardis, bigger on the inside, and each packmate had their own room. Or, in the case of couples or triplets, the group had their own room. But Derek’s was the biggest, by far, even though the only bed he had was a mattress spread on the floor like a bachelor. “I told you we’re never having sex on that thing again. My back was strained for a week after. Get an actual bed.”

“I like my floor mattress,” Derek said against Stiles’ ear, hot and inviting, and Stiles decided it would be worth it.

“Oh fine. Be a caveman. Throw me on it.” Stiles squeaked when Derek lifted him up on his shoulder. “ _Gently_!”

Derek let them both roll onto the mattress with very little force, and settled himself over Stiles. Stiles dragged his fingers up the sides of Derek’s ribs, and cupped his jaw in both hands. He pulled Derek down into a sensuous, easy kiss, that Derek gave freely and without hesitation. When they parted, Stiles sighed.

“Hey, are you happy?” Stiles asked. The candlelight in the room cast uneven light over Derek’s features, darkening his eyes.

Derek smiled and ran a hand through Stiles’ hair. He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” He started in for another kiss, hesitated, and drew back, and asked very seriously, “Are you happy?”

Stiles laughed and looped his arm around Derek’s neck. “I am so happy. Now come on. I know you want to ride this mattress again.”

“Unbelievable.” Derek whispered against Stiles’ neck.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the end! thank you so much for hanging around with this fic. your comments and kudos have been lovely, and i hope i have entertained you. thank you so much.


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